


Thunderbirds and Cigarette Cases

by Lemon (lemon_sprinkles)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Canon Gay Relationship, Crime Fighting, Detectives, Drama, Gay Sex, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Murder, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_sprinkles/pseuds/Lemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York in 1956 isn’t the friendliest of places. Regular stabbings, a few shootings, the occasional assassination all common place on the streets of the Big Apple. Renly is used to everything, though, the daily drudgery of work putting him right in the middle of death and corruption. But when Loras Tyrell, a rookie detective with a keen sense of justice and a killer smile is paired with Renly, suddenly the world seems a little bit brighter. But Renly can’t forget what he was told his first day on the job: Don’t get attached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this
> 
> Warning: None
> 
> Authors Note: Set in 1956, the story will detail the complications of being a gay man in a time and place where you are not accepted. Seen through the eyes of Renly Baratheon, it will cover an expanse of four years and his wild, foolish and terribly romantic affair with his partner, Loras Tyrell. I hope you enjoy.

They say you shouldn’t get too close to your partner. You should bond with them, get to know them, but don’t get attached. They could leave you at any moment; they could be reassigned; they could change jobs, unable to handle the dead eyes and the congealed blood anymore; or, they could take one between the shoulders for _you_ —a bullet that would rip through their spine and tear them open, leaving them to die in your arms as the sirens blare and the suspect laughs and the chamber smokes and the blood flows.

 They say don’t get attached.

 They should have listened…

 **Prologue**

No matter how many times he walked into the police station, the stench of smoke would choke his senses. Thick and heavy, it sat in the back of his throat and tickled his nose, making his eyes water and his hands grasp his tie, tugging it when no one was looking.

 It was almost as bad as the smell of corruption; a sour, god awfully smell that clung to you like a second skin, invading everything you did in time. You could try and wash it off, but no matter what you did it still sat there, thick and heavy and oppressive.

 “You should just start smoking.” Robert’s voice broke through Renly’s musings, and he turned his attention away from the window to peer at his brother over his desk. The gold plaque in front caught the light, the name ‘Commissioner Baratheon’ glaring back at him as he attempted to see his brother through the thick haze of smoke that plumed forth from his cigar. Taking a drag, Robert let it sit in his mouth as he watched his younger brother attempt to not cough. “I’m serious—take up smoking and stop this Nancy boy prattle about how it’ll harm your lungs. I’ve been smoking for years and look at me!”

 Renly was looking at him, and that was the trouble.

 Robert used to be impressive, his six foot two frame setting him apart from most of the men at the academy. Strong and powerful, he was an impressive sight to behold; chest broad and arms as thick as tree trunks, he wielded a bill club like a hammer when he was out on patrol,  intimidating most would be criminals from even attempting a crime while on his watch. Moving through the ranks, he was the ‘golden boy’, his ideals strong and the corruption clean from his hands… that was, before Lyanna’s death and the war in the Pacific. 

 Something happened to him after he returned from Japan, his mind more scarred than anything else, and everyone stood by and let the scar tissue build up until he was just a shell of what he once was. He began drinking and smoking, his new wife pulling him into politics where he began to look even more haggard and worn. Getting the position of commissioner was like the final nail in his coffin, and he gained weight and smoked and drank until he barely fit into his uniform anymore, gold buttons looking ready to bust open with every breath or cough he took.

 Renly enjoyed playing a game in his head every time conversation grew dull and all he had was his mind to entertain himself. He would imagine how the button would fly through the air and which item or person it would hit on its shot across the room.

 If the top were to pop right now, Renly decided, it would hit him right in the face.

 “I assure you I am quiet fine without a cigarette between my lips,” he drawled out, long fingers playing with the brim of his hat. Sighing, he sent Robert a weary smile before crossing one leg over the other, well-tailored grey slacks hanging gracefully from his form. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

 “You’ve got a new partner—he’s coming in today,” Robert said between the cigar in his mouth. Standing up, the chair creaked with the movement as he wandered over to a filing case. Pulling out a file at the top, he walked back to his desk and dropped it in front of Renly.

 Eyebrows rising, Renly reached out to touch it. “You’re going to trust me with a rookie?” he asked, taking the folder but not yet opening it. “Haven’t you been listening to Stannis at all? He says I’m a horrible influence.” He was only half teasing. When he was still on the beat as a cop he had almost managed to get himself killed attempting a stunt that he had hoped would get him a bit of glory. All it got him was a black eye and a bullet graze to the arm thanks to a shadow assassin. Said shadow assassin was later caught and beaten within an inch of his life for attempting to kill a police officer.

 Since that incident, Stannis regularly muttered that he almost wished the criminal had killed him or wounded him more severely, and that the beatings the man sustained were not justified. Renly liked to think he was just jealous that he had eventually made it to homicide investigations while Stannis was still stuck working arson cases. Still, the words stung…

 “Piss on that—you’ll be fine with him. He’s a young one but he’s got promise.” Nodding, Renly finally flipped the folder open, eyes scanning the neatly typed file with half interest. _‘Loras Tyrell’… ‘Age: 22’… ‘Recently graduated from the Academy outside New York’… ‘Remarkable marksmanship ability’… ‘Keen eyes for details’…_

“Are you sure you want to give this kid to me?” he asked as he folded the report closed. “Not that I doubt my ability, of course, but I get enough people riding my ass for being such a young detective already out on the field; to have two of us in our early and late twenties…”

 Robert let out a bark of laughter, face merry for a moment before he went serious. Pulling the cigar from his lips, he leaned forward and stared at Renly overtop his name plate. “This is a Tyrell, Renly. These people pay half the cities wages along with the Lannisters. They wanted their kid in with our family, and I am not going to deny them that. So you work with the kid, you train him proper and you make the Tyrells, the Baratheons, and the Lannisters happy. Got it?”

 Ah, so it was all about politics. Again. Renly had begun to wonder where the catch was.

 “Whatever you say, boss.” Standing up, he straightened out the cuffs of his dress shirt before sliding a hand over the side of his head, pressing his hair flat as he slipped his fedora back on. “I will make sure I don’t get him killed.”

 “Don’t even joke about that, Renly!” Robert’s voice boomed after him as he left, slamming the door closed while he did so. He was trying to look on the bright side of things; perhaps a new, young partner could be a good thing. His first homicide partner, Cressen, was older than Robert and Stannis combined, it seemed, and although he knew his way around a crime scene and a decaying corpse, his conversations were a little less than titillating at times. Renly liked him fine enough, and they got along, but it would be nice to have someone closer to his own age to work alongside of.

 Nodding to a few of the secretaries as he walked past, the sound of typewriters click-clacking away as they copied reports and looked as if they were doing their job as he headed to the briefing room. He could already hear Petyr’s  voice slithering under the crack of the door, and wondered what the man was trying to get out of doing this time as he opened the door and strode in. Barristan was the first to look up from his podium, expression blank as Renly winked and shut the door. Petyr stopped mid-sentence and broke out into a smug grin, leaning back in his chair and locking his fingers together.

 “And if it isn’t the man we were just speaking about,” he said, a smirk on his lips as his gaze flicked from Renly to a young man sitting at a table near the back. “I was just telling your new partner here that he better like shopping—we all heard the tale of you stopping outside almost every clothing store window a few weeks ago on your way to a case. Admiring the clothes you’ll buy with most of your paycheck?”

 Renly found it amusing how Petyr would prattle on even when no one was listening. He’d make remarks, grin smugly to himself and enjoy the simple pleasures of hearing himself speak. Most tuned out the Vice detective after a time, and Renly had become particularly good at it.

 However, there was a very good reason he was not listening to him at the moment. For, as Petyr began to state the obvious in a grandiose fashion, Renly was busy staring at his new partner.

 Large, brown doe eyes looked up at him from across the room, pouty lips opened slightly, a cigarette dangling from lithe fingers while his slicked back brown hair with the slightest of waves to it glittered in the sunlight. He was young and innocent, body looking relaxed despite the new and tense atmosphere as he lounged in his chair, elbows resting on the table while one leg crossed overtop the other. Realization as to who he was blossomed across the young detective’s face, and small smile spread across his lips as smoke billowed out between them.

 For a split second, Renly thought that perhaps smoking really wasn’t that bad.


	2. Bullet Wounds and Dandy Brandy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this
> 
> Warning: Mentions of violence and murder.
> 
> Authors Note: Thanks for all the positive responses already, you guys! It's wonderful that you're all on board with this AU. I was a little nervous people weren't going to read it because of the AU nature to it, but clearly this is not the case! Thanks again, peaches.

 It was amazing how quickly you could get over seeing a dead body. Once you’d seen one corpse, the rest just sort of melded together. There wasn’t anything special to it—just a bag of meat and bones, a few personal affects and a clump of hair. That was it. The person was gone; no longer inside what once housed them. Sure, the way in which a body was found sometimes made you pause. On a bed with a tie around their neck, in a bathtub half submerged in cold water, shot down on the street, bludgeoned in the back of the head in a warehouse, tipped over in an industrial freezer, or even in a car with a quick shot to the temple.

 Once you’d seen one body, one crime scene, and one soulless eye staring up at you from its final resting place, you’d pretty much seen it all.

 “—that doesn’t mean you can’t respect their body.”

 “I’m not saying you piss all over the corpse! What I’m saying is that you learn to treat it like a job because that’s what it is. You see the body and you figure out who clocked the poor sap upside the head and why. You treat them with respect while you’re walking around the crime scene, but there is no need to do anything beyond that.” Drumming his hands on the large steering wheel of his green Thunderbird, Renly watched his partner out of the corner of his eye with some amusement. Fiddling with a pen, Loras sat back in his seat, gaze dead ahead at the red light as the crackle of the police radio buzzed through the large four-seater. He was annoyed; Renly could already read that in him.

 They’d been working together for three months now, and Renly was finding his new partner more than entertaining. He was quick as a whip and eager—a positive for sure. Whenever they went to a case he soaked in all of the information like a sponge, remembering small details as he wandered about the room, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip sucked in as he bit it; obviously deep in thought. Anything Renly said was taken into account and applied when needed, and Loras was always willing to listen even if he was doing well on his own.

 He was a prodigy—well, that’s what everyone was saying around the station. A real genuine prodigy—a kid made for the details and intricacies of homicide. Renly was proud of him, and more than a little pleased that much of that praise bolstered his work record as well. Loras made him look _good_.

 Of course, Loras was also still green—full of ideals and busting at the seams with codes and proper procedures. It was good to follow the book, but not all the time; especially if you were going to work the cases in New York, the biggest and busiest city in all of Eastern America. Crime rate was high, murder victims even higher, and time was precious. Get the case in, work the case for as long as you had, before you put it aside when the phone rang again and the sergeant sent you on your way to another victim. If you got a break later on then busting it open again was allowed, but if the tips didn’t come in and the evidence never matched up, it was forgotten. Stuffed away and put in the concrete records room in the dark, dank basement never to be seen or heard from again.

 Renly never went down to those records if he could help it. A constant reminder of how fucked up the system he supported was.

 “Cheer up, Loras! We’ve got ourselves a good one today—a shooting victim behind a tequila bar! Ever drink tequila?”

Loras did not appear as if he did like tequila if the look he was giving Renly gave any indication. “No, I do not.”

 “Shame—I was going to treat you tonight. Ask you out for a drink...” That brought a small smile to Loras’ lips, but it was quickly covered up with his hand. Loras couldn’t hide his cheeks, however, and a rosy blush adorned them as he stared out the window.

 Renly liked Loras. He liked him a _lot_. It went beyond simple partnership affection. He wanted the kid. He was gorgeous—big, beautiful hazel eyes that displayed his emotions but could be covered up in times of need; full, pouty lips that held cigarette sticks and pens and other long objects so well between them, and a slim, fit body that rested under well-tailored suit jackets, vests, trousers and shined shoes. Normally Renly would have stopped himself from such obvious flirting—it was not as if showing romantic intentions towards another man was entirely acceptable nor appropriate—but there was something about Loras that made Renly realize he wouldn’t mind. That maybe he felt the same way; maybe he was just like Renly and preferred the company of men than the sweet perfumes of women.

But he never asked. It wasn’t his place and it wasn’t as if it was something you could bring up in casual conversation. Being queer or gay or whatever you called… it just wasn’t done. Renly surmised it wasn’t even entirely _legal_ which always served to give him a good wry laugh. Fucking McCarthy…

 However, this never stopped him from teasing Loras to watch him react. And that smile... God he looked amazing when he smiled like that.

 “Maybe you could take me out for a brandy instead,” Loras said over his knuckles, eyes downcast before they flicked over to stare at Renly. He could feel his gaze on him and tried to keep his attention on the road while a little white Corsair wiggled over into their lane, an elderly woman behind the wheel. 

 “When are you free?” he asked, deciding to go along with the banter. Maybe Loras was being genuine… or maybe he had just worked himself into such a sexually frustrated frenzy he was hallucinating.

 “Tonight if we’re not busy I could… I mean, if you are available.”

 “I’m always available,” Renly drawled out, a wink accompanying the vivacious grin. “It’s settled then—a glass of brandy after we solve this casein record speed.”

 It took all of his effort not to speed the rest of the way to their destination, excitement coursing through his veins at the possibility of spending a little more time with Loras that did not involve naked, bloated corpses and paperwork.

 Arriving at the scene of the crime, the playful atmosphere that had been in the Thunderbird left as they stepped out and onto the street, their high polished shoes clacking on the asphalt surface of the alleyway as they approached yellow police tape. Avoiding a few chunks of broken glass, Renly nodded his head towards the corpse a fair ways into the alleyway, indicating Loras should go check it out while he approached one of the cops standing along the edge of the scene.

 “Were you two the first on the scene?” he asked, smiling cheerily at them as they sipped their coffees. Bags rested under their eyes, and Renly suspected that the night shift had not been treating them well. He knew the feeling all too well.

“Yeah, me and Carl here were patrolling the area when we heard the shots ourselves! We could hardly believe it! But when we got there the assailant was gone and the body was just laying there, blood still pooling out of its head.”

 “What time was this?” Pulling out a notepad, he scribbled down the badge numbers of the men as they debated the time. Finally, one of them pulled out their own pad and pointed to a scrawled out number: 5:04 AM. “And the bar was closed, I’m assuming?”

 “They should be, but I doubt they were. Last call is at three but we saw some patrons coming out after the shooting.”

 Nodding, Renly scanned the area, watching Loras and the coroner speak over near the victim. He could hear the idle chatter of rubberneckers nearby, and tried to block them out as he simply surveyed the area. “No gun?”

 “Nope, just the bullet in the head. It was a pretty clean shot by the looks of it—you should check it out, detective.”

 Nodding, he thanked the two men before heading further into the scene. “He is certainly dead,” he declared as he looked down at the body. Lying out on his back, there was a very clear bullet hole right dead center on his forehead, and his limbs were completely sprawled out, indicating he was dead before he even hit the ground. Crouching down, he studied the bullet hole carefully, looking for traces of gunpowder. There were none…

 “I think we’ve got ourselves a hired killer,” Loras said, ignoring Renly’s comment about how he was ‘certainly dead’ as they studied the body. “His name was ‘Hugh Vale’—at least, that’s what it says on his licence. His wallet and money were all still in his pockets.”

 “Intact money rules out robbery, at least” Renly mumbled, tilting his head to the side to stare at the back of the man’s collar. He was dressed well… very well—especially for the area. This was known crime territory and not the sort of place you’d walk around in a designer suit with a silk tie. Reaching out, he opened the jacket to reveal the label. He couldn’t help but let out a whistle. “He’s wearing ‘Tobho Taylors’.”

 “I wear a few of Tobho’s suits,” Loras mumbled as he crouched down to look at the carefully stitched label.

 “So do I,” Renly said, standing up. “Costs a pretty penny to get one of those suits and I highly doubt anyone who actually lives in this area could afford one. I have been wrong before… but…” Looking around, he scanned the back of the bar before staring down the street where the bullet must have come from. Sauntering slowly forward, he counted the number of steps it took before he reached a small little yellow tag with the letter ‘B’ boldly printed on it. Crouching, he stared at the shell casing. Fifteen steps.

 “He has a crack shot, whoever did this,” Renly said over his shoulder as Loras wrote down the number of steps, seemingly reading Renly’s mind. “It was obviously done with a handgun and you’ve got to be deadly accurate to get a head shot from that distance.”

 “Ex-service man, perhaps?”

 Humming, Renly stood up and cracked his back. “I’d say we’ve got ourselves a hit. If it is crime boss related we can forget all about it and let the crime syndicate deal with it; it’s their jurisdiction.”

 “And if it isn’t?”

 “Then we work it like a regular homicide. Come, let us go and see if we can get anything from the people at the bar.” Renly’s favourite part—talking to the people and hearing how increasingly fantastical the next story was as they moved down the line. What could start out as a man being hit by a car could turn into an execution style killing against a wall, with a thousand rounds being shot off from an AK-47 while Santa Clause and the fucking Easter Bunny joined in. Throw in a dame like Marylyn Munroe and a love story gone sour, and you had yourself one rejected screenplay from the cinema’s down over in Los Angeles.

 Renly _loved_ those sorts of witnesses.

XX

This was supposed to be a date. Well, it was supposed to be a relaxed meeting between two men who may or may not both be interested in one another for some extra-curricular activity. It was supposed to be a good time; a fun time for them to get to know each other better. They were, after all partners, and if one thing mattered more than anything, it was having that understanding with the person you worked with. You were supposed to know your partner better than you knew your own wife.

 Well, it would be that way if Renly was actually married. A fate he had managed to avoid despite the sly looks from those around wondering why such an eligible bachelor with a high rank in the police department was still living alone with no woman in his life.

 _‘I’m just waiting for Elizabeth Taylor,’_ he’d say, a smile on his lips as those around him laughed. Occasionally it’d be Grace Kelly or Audrey Hepburn. He never said Rock Hudson or James Dean.

 The point was, however, that Renly had wanted to spend some time with Loras in which they never once spoke about the case—where the topic of strangulation and finger print analysis was never on the tip of their tongues as they conversed. He wanted to make Loras smile; he wanted to learn more about the kid; mostly he just wanted to relax.

 “—and the style in which it was done indicated to me that it was a crime of passion; you know, where they had no idea what they were doing until it was over. None of the others in the class were really paying attention to the strangulation having been done with a scarf rather than a rope—they thought it was premeditated and kept shouting their mouth off about it. Finally I just broke from the rest of the group and wrote my own report up on it. I lost a few points because I didn’t actually work as a ‘team’, which was part of the exercise, but I was the only one who actually solved the crime.”

 Nodding slowly, his chin resting on his hand, Renly swirled his glass of scotch around as he stared at Loras from across the table, the lights in the bar low, casting deep shadows across his partner’s face. He’d been going on about the different set-up cases they’d gone through at the academy for the last hour or so, and Renly didn’t have the heart to stop him. He looked so eager at the moment, eyes bright and alight with the passion he held for his craft. A small strand of wavy hair had come out of its hold to rest across his forehead, and Renly had been thinking about reaching across to brush it away for the past ten minutes. It was absolutely memorising.

 “I’m sorry, I’ve been going on about myself for the past hour. You should be able to say something as well—terribly rude of me,” Loras said when he finally looked at Renly. He must have looked drunk at the moment, leaning heavily on the table, a glass of alcohol in his hand with a whimsical smile on his lips. Sitting up, Renly broke his gaze from the piece of hair he’d been admiring and cracked his back.

 “Don’t apologize, Loras! It was nice to hear about your proper academic training. I was sort of… tossed into becoming a homicide detective and learned everything I know from my old partner Cressen. He retired a few months ago and then I got you.”

 “You didn’t want to be a detective at first?” Loras asked as he sipped his brandy. A rather posh drink, Renly decided. And rather ‘dandy’, too…

 Shrugging, he leaned back in the booth they were sitting in as Loras pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Watching the smoke curl up and sit with the rest of the ash that floated above their heads, Renly swirled his drink before knocking back the rest of it. “My brother got promoted and decided all of his brothers needed to be in a higher position—he pretty much pushed Stannis and I into applying to become detectives. I used to be in Vice with Petyr but was upgraded to Homicide one day. Stannis always sort of stayed in Arson; I think he enjoys the smell of burnt dreams.”

 Laughing, Loras nodded and sucked on the end of his stick before blowing more smoke out. “I take it you don’t get along with your brothers?”

 “Not really, no. We’ve always been sort of distant. Our parents passed away when I was really young, and I was raised by a nanny. We lived off of our parent’s money before my brother’s joined the workforce and began to support me. After that it was sort of my ‘duty’ to do what they wanted me to do. Robert wanted me to join the police so that is what I did.”

 Renly could see Loras did not know how to react to the story, eyes flicking from his face to the amber liquid in his glass. “I’m sorry to hear that. I mean, I am sorry for your loss.”

 Waving his hand about, Renly made a face. “Don’t be! They’ve been dead for over twenty years. Life goes on, as I am sure you are well aware of now that you’ve seen a few real dead bodies.”

 “Still… I can’t imagine not having that family bond. I mean, my family has always been important to me.” Looking up, they locked eyes for a moment and Renly nodded, eager for him to continue. “My parents have always been in my life—perhaps a little _too_ into my life. They groomed my brothers and my sister and I to be the best at everything. But… they love us a lot. And I love them. I feel as if my brothers and my little sister are my best friends.” The smile that slowly spread across his features when he spoke about his family made Renly’s palms tingle, desperate to see that smile directed at him.

 He had gone to the cinema too often, he decided. Those romantic films with the passionate kiss and the admission of love were getting to his head and making him a sappy housewife. Flagging down the waiter he asked for another scotch for himself and a brandy for his partner.

 “That is nice that you have that bond,” he said, playing with a cufflink casually. “I look for those bonds outside of my family, unfortunately. You get to choose your friends, and more often than naught they’ll come through in the end.”

 “It is true…”

 There was comfortable silence between them, the two listening to the longue pianist run his hands along the keys at a leisurely pace before Renly spoke up again. “Do you have a lucky lady at home?”

 The laugh was answer enough. Shaking his head, Loras smiled and snuffed his smoke out. “No, although it’s been difficult— I have a lot of… admirers, you could say.” He was attempting to be modest, but Renly could see how he puffed his chest out a little bit. It was a shame, however; this answered Renly’s question. He was into women.

 “Why do you want to stay single? It seems a bit odd for you to push aside a relationship when you could have any dame you wanted.” Pot, meet kettle.

 “I…” There was hesitation there—a slight pause that made Renly lean forward in his chair. But just as Loras was about to speak the waiter came back with their drinks, setting them down in front with a red napkin underneath. Thanking him, the two each took a sip of their drink before Loras cleared his throat. “I just have never been interested.”

 The press of Loras’ foot against his own under the table made Renly’s heart beat a little just faster, hope bubbling up inside him. That was decidedly on purpose.

 “I see,” he replied, trying to keep his emotions in check. Think like Clark Gable. Pressing back slightly, he smiled over the rim of his glass, Loras returning it. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make do without the assistance of a lovely lady on our arm.”

 “I guess we will.”


	3. Fay Wray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this
> 
> Warning: Violence 
> 
> Authors Note: Once again I thank you for the read/kudos/etc. It's really appreciated! Here's chapter 3 for you guys, and this time we get a little bit more action between our rose and stag.

“He is enormous.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

 “No, he is really large. He’s the size of a fucking battle tank.”

 “Yes.”

 “And we have to arrest him.”

 “Yes.”

 “Should we call backup?”

 A snort. “No.”

 Renly was glad for the press of a gun against his side. Never had he been so pleased he had a weapon on his persons, cold and hard and terribly comforting. When did having a gun on his side become a comfort? It had been so long since he wasn’t wearing a gun holster across his shoulders that he forgot a period in time when he wasn’t wearing one. That was a startling thought.

 Not as startling as the man they were supposed to arrest, however. Sitting at the bar counter in a seedy section of the slums of New York was possibly one of the biggest men Renly and Loras had ever laid eyes on. Hunched over, massive palms cupped a beer bottle while arms the size of wine barrels rested atop the grimy table. Thick, low eyebrows hid his beady eyes from view, and a walrus moustache drooped over his lips as he glowered at the bottles across from him. Gregor Clegane was his name, and he was the one responsible for the death of a Mr. Hugh Vale three weeks past.

 It was a hit, they surmised. Hugh was involved in some back door deals, he knew too much and was willing to speak if the price was high enough, and he was taken out. They had not figured out who hired the hit—that was up to the Crime syndicate to find out—but they knew who did it. And it was this… _mountain_ of a man.

 “I really think it is best if we call for some backup before we arrest him,” Renly stated as they stood outside the bar, the door ajar as they whispered to one another. Things could get tense quickly, and in such a small space Renly did really not want to take his chances with a man who could shoot you in the head quick as he pleased. Or strangle you with his massive arms.

Loras, however, seemed unperturbed by the man before them. Underestimating someone, especially a person who was clearly capable of taking care of himself, was one of the best ways to get yourself killed doing this line of work. Clearly Loras had not figured it out yet. “We need to take him now or never—he’ll be leaving soon and brining more men in will only exacerbate the issue.”

 Sighing, Renly pinched the bridge of his nose. Loras was stubborn and headstrong; a glory monger. Just like he had been when he almost got himself killed. The scar still stretched uncomfortably against his arm. “Fine, but do this carefully. Get your handcuffs out slowly and speak to him in a respectable tone.”

 Rolling his eyes, Loras sent him a look before stepping into the bar as he pulled his badge out. “NYPD—Mr. Gregor Clegane you are under the arrest for—“

 It happened so quickly Renly had no idea what had transpired for a moment. First the suspect had been sitting and then he was no longer on his stool but rather standing upright as Loras crashed heavily to the ground. He did not stay down long, however, as Gregor had picked him up as if he had weighed nothing and attempted to throw him across the room at Renly. He was using his partner as a _battering ram_. For a moment it looked like a scene out of King Kong, and Renly let out a hysterical bite of laughter at the absolute absurdity of everything. But the laughter stopped as soon as it had come as Loras’ body ran into his own, knocking the wind out of him. Falling down, he held on to Loras, shielding him from much of the impact of hitting the hard tiles underfoot. He could hear the sound of Gregor taking off through the back of the bar, and he struggled to lift his half-unconscious partner off of himself.

 “Are you alright?” he asked as soon as he was sitting upright, Loras loose in his arms. Cupping his cheek, he made him look at him, hazel eyes dazed while blood fell down his lip. At least he was alive—

 The crash in the back of the room broke Renly from staring at the blood that refused to stop coming forth from Loras’ lip, and he scrambled out from under the boy to see what was happening in the back, torn between getting to the storage room and making sure his partner did not die from a concussion. Scrambling overtop of the tipped over stool he pushed his way through the men who had crowded around the back room, the words ‘fight’ being screamed among the crash and bangs. Breaking through, he watched in amazement as Gregor the Mountain fought with the bartender who had been completely forgotten due to the sheer shock at seeing Clegane. If he hadn’t been standing next to the offender he would have brought a lot of attention; his face was terribly mutilated. Scar tissue seemed to make up the entire right side of his face, hair lost and eye dead as the skin hung heavy and unmoving overtop damaged muscle.

 He was hideous. But he was also doing a good job of handling the bull in the china shop, his build similar but slimmer than that of Gregor. Unfortunately, it was not enough, and the man managed to break away from the bartender’s hold before he bust through the back door and pelted down the alleyway, moving faster than Renly thought possible. The sound of sirens shot off in the distance, and Renly found himself following suit, unable to let the man get away. Trailing after him, they twisted and turned through the alleyways, Renly shouting the usual ‘NYPD—Stop in the name of the law’ and ‘Just fucking stop!’

 The sound of police sirens bounced off of the walls, cruisers patrolling the area but seemingly unable to find the two as they continued to run. Pulling out his gun, Renly cocked it and slowed down as they came down a long stretch. “Stop in the name of the law or I will shoot,” he yelled. Gregor continued to run, however, and Renly began to wonder if shooting him would stop the crazed lunatic. This _was_ like King Kong…

 Firing a warning shot into the air, the sound of the gunpowder going off cracked loud and harsh against cement buildings, but still the man ran, seemingly full of an infinite amount of adrenaline. Thankfully the sound of the gun alerted the police to their presence, and not long after a cruiser pressed on after the man, leaving Renly panting and breathing heavily against the wall of an apartment building. Closing his eyes, he stayed where he was, a little ashamed that he, at twenty-six, was outrun by an impossibly large gorilla-man.

 Putting his gun back into its holster, he patted it a few times before wandering back to the bar, his legs burning and his chest thumping. There were cruisers all around the bar itself, and Renly noticed with some amount of sympathy the bartender sitting outside, a cut above his good eye blinding him with blood while men pressed him for information. Deciding to avoid the general commotion for a moment, he sauntered back to his car, Loras’ form seen in the passenger’s seat. Approaching the vehicle he saw he had his hat pressed against his face, body limp as he half lay on the seat.

 Tapping the window, he watched Loras blindly grope for the window handle, rolling it down all the way before his hand slid back down to lie limply on the chair.

 “Did you call the backup?” he asked, resting his arms on the window ledge, leaning slightly into the car. Loras wiggled the radio that was still resting in his hand around, and Renly smiled. “Let me see your face.”

 There was a pause, and Loras hesitated before he reached up and moved his hat away from his face. Eyes closed and brows furrowed, it was obvious he was in a bit of pain. However, the impressive bruise that blossomed across his jaw and cheek was what really brought Renly to the conclusion that Loras’ head must have been pounding.

 Reaching out, he touched the cut on his lip gently, causing the younger man to moan. “Don’t touch it,” he ground out, eyes opening to stare at him. He was obviously concussed.

 “I’m just looking,” he explained, retracting his hand. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

 “I look terrible,” Loras mumbled, eyes closing again as he continued to lie on the seat, body slowly sliding down the plastic and fabric covered seats.

 “I still like your face,” Renly said, a little quieter. Loras heard however, and he smiled softly before grimacing as his lip split open again.

XX

 “This is why you should listen to me,” Renly explained as he dabbed a bit of cotton against Loras’ lip, cleaning off the rest of the cut as gentle as he could. Loras, for his part, was sitting relatively still on the toilet in Renly’s bathroom, eyes closed as he was patched up.

 “What do you want me to say?” he asked as soon as Renly had pulled away. Opening his eyes, he watched as Renly cleaned up the bloodied cotton and tossed it in the bin before putting the antiseptic back above the sink. Passing him his shirt, Renly let Loras put it back on as he rolled his sleeves down and ventured back into the rest of his apartment, Loras’ footsteps now far behind.

 “You could have said you were sorry for going against my suggestion,” he said as they entered the kitchen. Turning the light on, he opened up the icebox and pulled out the ice tray, shutting it before grabbing a towel. Cracking the tray back and forth, he dumped the cubes on to the towel before wrapping them up and passing it to Loras. Taking it with little complaint, he gingerly pressed it against his purple jaw.

 “Well I am sorry,” he mumbled, looking less than pleased by the admission that he had done something wrong. But Renly was pleased to hear it and smiled as he unclasped his gun holsters and shrugged them off of his shoulders. Dropping them on to the table in the kitchen, he walked past Loras and went to sit on his couch, stretching his feet out as Loras moved to sit beside him, groaning slightly. “Next time we need to arrest a gigantic abomination I’ll be sure to call for backup.”

 “You should watch more movies, Loras,” he said, winking as their shoulders brushed. “In King Kong the beast went mad as they provoked him, and eventually broke out and kidnapped a young woman. Picking her up, he carried her to the top of the Empire State building, refusing to give her up. The only difference is that Fay Wray was much better at screaming then you are.”

 Snorting, Loras began to droop slightly on the couch, eyes closed as he kept the ice pressed close. His hair had come out of its jelled hold, and Renly admired as the natural wave took over. Reaching up, he touched the side of his head gently, running his hand through his hair just once. The little sound Loras made pushed Renly to continue, and he wrapped his arm around his shoulder before playing with the curls at the side of his head, Loras relaxing even further.

 They had been flirting continually since their time at the bar a few weeks ago. But it was hesitant and new, the two of them dancing around each other as they worked through their feelings. Renly was ready to take the plunge—he had been ready since the moment he saw Loras. But Loras was younger and less experienced. Not to mention being with another man, and your partner no less, was something not taken lightly. Renly knew _he_ did not care, but Loras… Loras still had to work through that.

 And so they did things like this: simple, gentle touches and flirtatious stares and conversation. They had not even kissed, yet…

 “Do you go to the cinema a lot?” Loras asked, voice soft. Nudging him a little, Renly tried to keep him awake, well aware that such damage to the head could harm someone.

 “You could say that—I go about once a month whether there is something I want to see or not. I just like the glamour on the screen; all of the pomp and excess. You’ve got classy women and your original gentlemen, love-sick young and wise, experienced old. Giant gorillas, intense car chases, stories that make you cry or make you laugh—the cinema has it all…”

 “You should have become an actor,” Loras said after a time, Renly’s fingers still playing with his hair. He smelt like aftershave and rubbing alcohol with a hint of tobacco. It was an interesting mix, and Renly moved in to kiss the side of his head gently.

 “Maybe I should have,” he mumbled as Loras shifted in his arms to look at him. Smiling as dazed hazel eyes stared into his own, Renly reached up to cup his bruised cheek, Loras having removed the ice as he shifted. “I always did like the idea of being famous and living a glamorous lifestyle… Maybe I could have met James Dean.” Loras’ cheek felt cold and hot at the same time, the ice having numbed the pain but the skin still sore and sensitive.

 “You liked James Dean?” Loras asked as they moved in closer together, breath tickling his lips as his eyes flicked down to look at them before back up. Renly shivered slightly, hand running down his jaw. He could feel Loras’ pulse beating through the vein in his neck; fast and excited.

 “He’s pretty swell. I liked his pout,” Renly said as Loras shifted even closer. “Do you ever go to the movies?”

 “Not often… take me sometime?” Renly was about to reply, but the press of Loras’ lips against his own stopped him. It was light at the start, but as soon as Renly kissed back Loras opened up, more insistent as he pressed close. Bracing his hand on Loras’ shoulder, Renly tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss as Loras’ hand crept up to cup his cheek, sure and sound, hiding any possible misgivings his partner could be feeling.

 He tasted like coffee and tobacco, a hint of his own personal flavour mixing to create a not all together unappealing taste. The push of Loras, hard and insistent against his chest was a thrill, and the press of his lips against his own made his head spin and his body ache, all thoughts leaving him as they touched like this for the first time.

But it was all over quickly, Loras pulling away slightly, his bottom lip red and angry in the corner where the cut resided. But he was smiling despite the obvious pain, a little chuckle breaking past as they knocked foreheads together. Renly couldn’t help but beam as well, unable to stop as his smile grew bigger and bigger, before he was grinning like a fool. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

 “Planned getting hit in the head? No, but it helped a little bit,” Loras replied, his eyes closing against as he leaned heavily on Renly. “My lip hurts like a son of a bitch, though.”

 “Did you want me to take you home?” he asked, not really wanting to but realizing it was probably for the best. Now that he had a taste he wanted more, but Loras was obviously in no condition to do much of anything except maybe drool and collapse on every available surface as the cloud in his head continued to muddle his mind.

 “No… not yet. Tell me about your favourite movie.” Moving his head, Loras rested it on Renly’s shoulder.

  Sighing, he kissed the top of his head. “You have to promise me you’ll keep your eyes open.” A grunt was his reply. Rolling his eyes, he reached down and gently pulled one of Loras’ eyelids up, causing him to open them quickly. “Keep them open while I tell you about a movie called ‘The King and I’.”

 “Isn’t that a musical?”

 “Well yes, can’t I choose a musical? It had Yul Brynner in it.”

 “… So?”

 “Loras, my partner, you have a lot to learn about the movies.”


	4. Reefers and Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this
> 
> Warning: None
> 
> Authors Note: Once again, thank you for reading and supporting this fic! Slightly delay in the update this time, but you know how it is! Hope you enjoy!

 Resting his chin on his hand, Renly scribbled away at a report, fine pen sliding across the crisp white paper with ease as he detailed an interview session he had conducted ten minutes ago. It was with a possible suspect for a petty burglary gone wrong down in Manhattan. The guy apparently did not mean to stab the victim, it just ‘sort of happened on accident! I swear’. Renly didn’t really care at that moment—the guy was locked up and although there was more evidence to compile and interviews to do, as far as he was concerned as soon as the initial report was done, so was he. Everything could wait until the morning.

 “Are you almost done?” Looking up as a hip rested on the side of his desk, Renly smiled when he saw a familiar face looming over, cigarette in between perfect lips.

 “You’re very impatient, Loras,” Renly mused, going back to his work. Just a few more boxes to fill…

 “And you’re very slow,” he drawled out in reply, sucking on the end of the stick, blowing smoke up in the air. Moving to sit across from him at his own desk, he leaned forward as he stuffed his smoke out in a crystal ashtray. “You said you would take me to the movies tonight—are we still going?”

 Smirking, Renly shrugged and finished off the second to last box. “I don’t know, that depends on if you’d still like to go with me…”

 “I thought we could maybe get a drink beforehand. And then completely forget about the movie, go for a drive where we'd relax before we have to get up early for work again.” Glancing up from his paper, he looked at Loras carefully. Eyes alight with mischief, Loras was grinning broadly back at him before sitting back to pull out another cigarette.

 “You don’t want to see a movie?” he asked, desperately wanting to reach out to kiss him, but refraining. They were at work and the office door was open, people walking past despite the increasingly late hour. Crime never slept, nor did the precinct. “I thought we’d go see ‘Around the World in Eighty Days’.” He was greeted with silence, and chuckled, shaking his head. “I take it you’re not into that.”

 “I just don’t think movies are a great place for us to talk… and kiss.” He said the last part so quietly Renly had to strain to hear it. Again he found himself smiling like a love-drunk kid. Since the kiss a week ago, Renly had been aching to do it again and as much as possible. Having been given a taste he realized he wanted more; he craved it. Never had he wanted someone so deeply before. And it wasn’t just physical, either. He wanted to know more about Loras—his passions and his talents, his thoughts and ideas. He could listen to him speak for hours about nothing and he’d be happy so long as he got to watch the fire burn behind his eyes and listen to the soft, careful tone of his voice.

 And it was true—going to the theater would garner them no time to speak to one another. If they went for a drive like Loras wanted they could talk some more. And touch some more. It was a pleasing thought, and he found himself agreeing easily. “Alright, we’ll go for a drink and then a drive. You’re buying.”

 “Deal—now finish that up.” Leaving the office, Loras sauntered out the door as Renly hurried off the rest of the report. Concluding it with a little less finesse than he usually displayed in his handwriting, he stood up and grabbed his jacket and hat before stepping out into the main hallway with a folder in hand. Going to the secretary’s office, he dropped the folder off in a little wire basket before turning around to see Petyr standing near the door, a smug smile on his face. Nodding his head down the hallway, his grin grew bigger as Renly approached. Looking down where he was staring, Renly noticed a man and a woman sitting down on a bench, hands handcuffed behind their backs. Loras was standing a short distance away, casual despite the slightly confused look on his face as the woman looked him up and down.

 “Caught those two smoking reefers in the back of their car while fucking—I think the broad is a prostitute, too. She calls herself ‘Ros’.”

 Renly did not see the hilarity behind it all. Why would anyone care about a case like this—it seemed common enough for Vice. But Renly was not a person to judge another individual on how they got their rocks off… “Why has this one got you so amused? Do you remember Ros from when you went down to the docks?”

 “It’s not the hooker I’m laughing about,” Petyr said, ignoring the jab. Renly could see the corner of his mouth pull slightly, though, and he broke out into a self-satisfied grin. Small victories were what made his day. “It’s the Greaser. Recognize him?”

 Staring at the man down the hallway, he tried to pinpoint him. Hair greased back but falling out of its hold, the man had a lazy, smug smirk on his face, eyes heavy lidded as he leaned heavily on Ros who was still looking Loras up and down with a salacious grin. Renly felt sort of bad for his partner who was currently trying not to notice as he inspected his silver cigarette holder with rapt attention. The boy looked sort of familiar, but Renly wasn’t a Greaser nor did he often hang out with druggies and prostitutes.

 “No, can’t pinpoint him—come on, tell me who he is so I can get out of here.”

 “Theon Greyjoy—a very good friend of young Robb Stark, Ned Stark’s eldest son.”

 Renly couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter before slamming his hand over his mouth. Oh, Robert was _not_ going to be happy about this. “Did you tell my brother?”

 “Of course I did. He’s running around trying to spin it so Ned doesn’t have to deal with the fact that his son’s best friend, a friend who no doubt has a great amount of influence over his son and probably inspires what he does when he’s out of the house, was caught fucking a whore with a reefer in his mouth in the back of a car.” 

 Shaking his head, Renly patted Petyr’s shoulder before heading off to save Loras. “Keep me informed about my brother, alright? I want you to impersonate his face when you told him when I get back,” he called over his shoulder before turning around to wink at Loras.

 Passing Ros and Theon, he tipped his hat towards Ros, receiving a brilliant smile back from both of them before walking out with Loras.

 “My god they reeked of marijuana,” Loras said as they left the precinct. “And that woman was… upfront.”

 “She was a prostitute,” Renly said.

 “Oh… Still, she could have toned it down. She’d just been arrested.”

 “Did she give you her card? Because you know where some of them keep those things…”

 “Oh shut up.”

XX

 “This is very illegal.”

 “’s not that illegal.”

 “It’s illegal _enough_.”

 “Do you know what _is_ illegal?”

 “This.”

 Shoving Loras’ shoulder, Renly made a sound before taking another swing of his drink, glass bottle wrapped up in a brown paper bag. “Yes, but do you know what else is illegal?” he asked, sending Loras a lazy smile as he leaned in closer. Sitting on the front of his car, Renly and Loras gazed out across a neighborhood on top of a hill, a pretty suburban park behind them and rows upon rows of pretty homes with pretty manicured lawns and little tiny lights sprinkles about, peeking through windows and lining the pretty little streets. It looked sort of like a switch board he’d seen in a radio station, Renly had thought. That was before he became completely inebriated. Now it just looked… blurry.

“What is?” Loras asked, tilting his head upwards as Renly drew closer. Smirking, he pressed a kiss to his chin before Loras dropped his head enough so he could capture his lips in a kiss. Loras tasted of beer, brandy and a bit of whiskey—sweet and bitter all in one warm, heated package. Opening his mouth easily, Loras let Renly deepen it, tongues sliding against each other’s as they embraced. Gripping his beer bottle in one hand and Loras’ loose tie in the other, Renly pressed in close, breaking away as soon as Loras let out a soft whimper.

 “This is,” he hummed out, kissing Loras again. The sound of the radio from the car carried through the night, accompanying the two of them on their date. It was a slow song at the moment, soothing and soft, the radio stations switching to relaxed melodies as the evening wore on. Renly had no idea what time it was, but he didn’t care.

 Pulling away again, Loras ran his hand through Renly’s hair, watching the trail of his hand before he winked at Renly and took a sip of his own drink, pushing Renly away. “I’m confused.” Renly snorted and Loras glared. “I’m confused,” he continued, “because I still do not know what ‘this’ is. Because I can assure you we’ve done numerous illegal things already. Drinking and driving—although you weren’t drunk when we left the liquor store, I will give you that. Still, drinking and driving, public drinking, even though no one can see us, and finally…?”

 “Kissing you… us—kissing. Men kissing in general. It’s not completely legal,” Renly supplied, wanting to reach out and kiss him again. Everything Loras was doing was driving him mad. When he’d drink Renly would stare at his throat, watching the way his Adam’s Apple would bob, desperately wanting to kiss it; when he’d run his hand through his hair, Renly wanted to capture it and kiss the palm and each fingertip; and when he’s speak, Renly just wanted him to say his name over and over again. He was intoxicating, more so than any drink man could create.

 “You’re staring again, Renly…” Loras said, a slow, easy smile spreading across his features as he snapped his finger in front of his eyes.

 Blinking away the daze, Renly rubbed a hand over his face and shrugged before leaning on Loras, their shoulders pressed together. “It’s not my fault you’re so… so beautiful. You’re my Fay…”

 “Oh stop calling me that,” Loras moaned out, shoving Renly off of him once more before taking another sip. Chuckling, Renly rolled his shoulders back and followed suit, drinking the last of the contents in his bottle before tossing it down the hill. It rolled a fair distance before it got caught on a shrub, and Renly was tempted to go down and kicked it further to see if it would get to the pretty perfect houses down there. See how perfect their lawn was after some drunk cop kicked a beer bottle down there!

 “What are you doing?”

 “Thinking about doing more illegal things now that we’re complete rebels,” Renly said, finally pulling his attention away from the bottle. “What are _you_ doing?”

 Smirking, Loras reached out and pulled Renly in for another kiss. Messy and disorganized, they pushed and pulled, Renly trying to get Loras to come closer to him while Loras tried to get Renly to do the same. Eventually Renly jumped off of the hood of the car, breaking the kiss as he stumbled. Getting his footing, he ignored Loras’ laughter and moved to stand between his legs. Pushing Loras down on to the hood, Loras just managed to avoid hitting his head on the window, and scooted down a bit so he could lie on the hard green metal before Renly was climbing on top of him, kissing him deeply.

 The car groaned with the weight, and shifted heavily to the left as they two lay on the front, kissing one another with drunken laziness. Arms wrapping themselves around his neck, Renly let out a soft, pleased hum as Loras massaged the nap of his neck, fingers surprisingly deft. Keeping the kiss going, Renly’s hand strayed along Loras’ chest and down, and he was about to reach the waistband before he felt lukewarm liquid run down his neck.

 “Shit,” he mumbled against Loras’ already smiling lips, laughter breaking out as Renly slid off of him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he pulled his hand back and sniffed—beer. “You just poured beer on me!”

 Laughing loudly, Loras leaned back on one arm, wiggling the beer bottle around a bit. “My hand slipped.”

 Growling softly, Renly went to pull Loras off of the trunk, affronted that Loras would pour beer on him, staining his shirt, just when he was just about to reach down and jerk him off. Fighting back, the two of them had a playful scuffle on the car before Loras paused with a gasp. Fearing he’d hurt him, Renly immediately stopped and was about to ask what was wrong before Loras shoved his hand against his mouth. A moment passed in which Renly stood, hand upon his face, while Loras sat, eyes wide and head held high. He reminded Renly of a terrier. 

 Jumping off of the car, Loras tossed his almost empty bottle down the hill before getting into Renly’s car, turning the radio up. “Dance with me,” he said as he got out, a song by Frank Sinatra playing loudly from the vehicle.

 “You like Sinatra?” Renly asked as Loras wrapped his arm around his waist, tugging him close before joining their hands together. Renly moved along with Loras, realizing rather belatedly that he was in the female’s dance position. He didn’t mind too much, though, as the voice of Frank Sinatra’s carried through the early crisp fall air and Loras pressed close. Chest to chest, hip to hip, their palms pressed warmly together, Renly just went along with it as Loras lead them around on the grassy hill, eyes alight.

 “I love Sinatra—Heaven, I’m in heaven, and the cares that hung around me through the week, seem to vanish like a gambler’s lucky streak, when we’re out together, dancing cheek to cheek.” Loras pressed his cheek against Renly’s at that moment, humming the rest of the tune as they shuffled along the grass.

 Laughing, Renly moved to kiss the side of Loras’ head, enjoying the way they two of them moved together. It was a little awkward, Renly trying to take over a few times, resulting in toes being stepped on, but for the most part they worked well together, Loras slurring out a few more lyrics before the song finished. Not stopping their dancing, they ended up moving right into the next song, this one a little faster. Attempting to twirl him, Loras lifted his hand and Renly tried to go along with the movement before his foot caught on a stone. Slipping, he grabbed on to Loras. They did a good show of trying to stay up before Renly went down, Loras coming with him.

 Landing on his back, Loras fell on top of him, his partner’s elbow hitting his gut, making him let out a gasp, air being pushed out of his lungs from the impact. Grunting, he shoved Loras off and rubbed his stomach. He knew it should probably hurt more, but the alcohol had dulled his senses, and all he could do was begin to laugh as Loras continued to giggle, the two of them lying on the grass, shoulders pressed.

 “You’re so clumsy,” Loras drawled out as they slowly quieted down.

 “You’re the one who fell on top of me,” Renly shot back, nudging his side with his elbow. Nudging back, the two had a little elbow fight before slowing down, both out of breath. Starring up at the sky, Renly let himself relax, ears ringing slightly and body tingling. Snuffling slightly, he let out a soft cough, getting cold as the alcohol no longer warmed his system. Nothing was said for some time, before Loras’ fingers slowly pressed against his hand, uncurling his fingers before linking their digits together. Squeezing down gently, Renly brought his hand up for a kiss, still staring at the night sky.

 This was a good night, Renly mused as they lay together. Once they went for their drive everything just floated away, trailing out the open windows as they drove further and further away from their commitments and responsibilities. Not once did they talk about work or murders, instead pressing each other on menial, trivial topics like favourite sorts of sandwiches and summer camp adventures as children. It was exactly what they both needed, and Renly was grateful Loras had decided against the movie.

 “Thank you for this,” Loras mumbled as Billy Holiday’s voice floated through the air.

 “For what?” he asked, dropping their hands to rest between them.

 Loras didn’t say anything for some time, and Renly just waited, eager but willing to let him take his time-- always willing. “For proving to me that this can work… that I’m not strange or for feeling like this… feeling like this about other men, I mean. I thought I was alone… I couldn’t tell anyone about what I was feeling and I thought it would go away. I was ready to hide—try liking girls. But then I found you and I realized I didn’t want to hide. I don’t want to hide this.” Lifting himself up, Loras’ face came into view as he hovered above. His eyes were soft and tone gentle, and an appreciate smile tugged at his lips. Captivated, Renly reached up and brushed his messy bangs away, only to have them fall back. God he loved those curls… “Thank you for bringing me into the light.”

 Not knowing what to say, Renly lifted his head up to catch Loras’ bottom lip in a kiss, deciding to show his emotions rather than speak them. Coming down with him, Loras shifted so he was on top of Renly, the two sharing heat as the evening grew cooler and the alcohol slowly leaked away.

 They ended up falling asleep in the back of Renly’s car, the two of them too drunk and tired to drive home. Curled up in the back, Loras’ face pressed against his chest and strong hands grasping his shirt, Renly stared up at the ceiling of the vehicle as the sun rose off in the distance, tongue fuzzy and thoughts muddled. He wasn’t sure if he deserved the thanks Loras gave him only a few hours ago; Loras was so head strong that he’d never let himself be constrained by societies bigoted views for too long—he’d have probably found his sun somewhere else with someone else had they not met (a thought that made his gut clench and a certain possessiveness leak through his limbs). Besides, Renly wasn’t as strong as Loras believed him to be, with his own doubts about his lifestyle and physical desires sometimes getting the better of him. He never voiced them and he never pressed his worries on Loras, but they were there, wiggling away at his thoughts and ideas, always skittering around the edges of his actions, silently judging and reprimanding.

 But when he was like this, Loras pressed closed, lips parted and eyes closed, long lashes caressing high cheekbones and perfect lips slightly open, warm breath sliding against his chest as they lay together, the second-thoughts and screams of society would disappear for just a moment. Renly supposed _he_ should be the one to thank Loras.

He wasn’t sure if he deserved the praise or the thanks, but he would take it. Renly knew that as long as he had done one good thing for Loras—just one thing, whether he believed in it or not—than he could be at peace, too.


	5. Intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this
> 
> Warning: Graphic MalexMale sex
> 
> Authors Note: They do it in this chapter. THAT IS ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW! Thanks for the support, you guys! Really appreciate it!

It was cold and dark, the sky clouded and the stars hidden. A light snow had drifted down on the streets, muffling every sound in the quiet suburban neighbourhood just outside of the busy downtown center. Standing in the foyer, Renly slid his black leather glove back on and held his hat at his side while Loras finished speaking to the father of the latest victim; a young Billy Byson.

 Twenty year old white male who was beaten to death. Billy had put up a fight, but whoever went in there to take him out had a lot of pent up rage on the vic. Renly found it hard to look at the face of the victim, what with it so badly beaten it was impossible to identify him without some sort of record. But with such a gruesome death came the possibility for fingerprints, not to mention a violent crime like this obviously held some sort of emotional connection to it. Interview a few people, find out any vendettas someone had, combined that with fingerprint matchups, and they’d be done with the case before New Year’s Eve.

  “Thank you for your time, and we’re deeply sorry for your loss,” Renly recited as they left the family to their grief. Stepping out into the street, they put their hats back on at the same time and walked down the sidewalk towards the car, snow crunching underfoot.

 “Do you believe Mr. Byson when he says Billy had no one with some sort of grudge against him?” Loras asked, standing at the passenger side door as Renly unlocked it for him.

 “No, not for a minute—did you see how he refused to look at us when we asked?” Getting in, they shut the doors and put on their seatbelts before Renly started his Thunderbird up, thankful it hadn’t become too cold where it wouldn’t start. “We should come to interview the mother when the man of the house isn’t around—she seemed more willing to speak.”

 Pulling away from the curb Renly drove them back downtown, the radio crackling away, messages coming and going that had little to do with them. Sitting back in his seat, Renly could see Loras getting comfortable, black thick wool coat coupled with a broad brimmed fedora covering most of him up. “We’re off the clock as soon as we get back to the station—they’re cutting us back from overtime because of the holiday season. Cheap fuckers, huh?”

 Laughing, Loras hummed in agreement. “It’s your brother’s fault—if anyone is going to get put through the ringer for this it’s you.”

 “Hey now,” Renly began, laughing but still a little offended. “Don’t throw me out with the water! I may be a Baratheon but I don’t sign your pay check.”

 Loras made a noise that sounded distinctly like an ‘I don’t know’ followed by a sigh. “Are you going home right after we check in and file our reports?”

 Nodding, Renly tapped his gloved hands on his steering wheel. He was going home to an empty apartment with a string of Christmas lights hanging around one window where he’d most likely go to sleep. He had a dinner party to attend the next day, and he needed to prepare himself for an evening with the Lannisters. The thought made him more irritable than it should. He adored parties, but something about seeing Cersei drape herself across his brother’s arm in a shame of a marriage while her brother looked on with barely contained _lust_ made Renly want to shoot himself in the foot.

 Holidays brought out the best in people.

 “Did you want a ride home?” he asked, still amused Loras refused to buy a car for himself. He had the money, but he claimed all of the cars he wanted would not survive the winter in New York. It was most likely true enough— mustang convertibles and posh jaguars were ruined in the winter, and those were the vehicles Loras found himself drawn to. Loras certainly liked expensive things…

 The thought of _him_ being expensive made Renly laugh to himself, and he completely missed what Loras was saying. “What are you laughing at?”

 Shaking his head, Renly took his hat off and placed it between the two of them, still chuckling. “Nothing, I was just laughing at myself—I missed what you had said.”

 Loras coughed softly and rubbed his hands together, the heater in the car not working as well as they’d both hoped it would. “What I was saying was I want to go back to your place.”

  _Oh…_

Loras was over often enough; their work relationship bringing him over to do paperwork or to work on cases whenever the station became too busy to concentrate. Those times would usually devolve into more personal moments between the two— intimate conversations and quick kisses—but their meetings had never gone beyond that.

 But this—this was clearly a completely social engagement and one that held a bushel of opportunity if Renly was reading Loras right. He might get laid… He hadn’t been laid in a long while. Even with the two of them eager, they still hadn’t had sex. They were too busy, their jobs and odd hours making it hard to find the time. But they were done with work, they had nowhere to be in the morning, and it was awfully cold outside—a warm body in his bed _would_ be appreciated…

 “You’re very forward,” Renly drawled out, a smirk on his lips.

 Loras returned it and shrugged. “No use being a gentleman about it. You’re been staring at me like I’m some piece of meat for the last few weeks.”

 It was true; he had been staring at him a lot. It wasn’t like it was a chore—whenever Loras sat across from him, when the work had been finished and the professional air disappeared, Renly couldn’t help but let his eyes wander and his desires take hold of his mind. Loras was perfect in every way, and Renly longed for when he’d get to see that figure that rested behind tailored suits and pinstripe vests. He had chosen to take it slow, trying best to hide his eagerness for the sake of Loras. He had admitted to him that this was his first tryst with another man, and his first real, solid relationship. Renly did not want to rush anything or push him too far—he would have felt terrible. Loras deserved the time he needed to come to terms with his personal attractions…

 But, apparently, he had come to terms with them. And Renly was more than willing to stop talking about it if that meant he’d get someone else’s hand around his prick again.

 The drive back to the station seemed to take longer than usual, and _of course_ Renly was pulled aside by three different men as he tried to leave, Loras hanging back and looking the epitome of calm and controlled as he did so. Renly was always surprised at how quickly Loras could go from relaxed, confident and in control, to completely haughty and arrogant, his walls up and his head held high as someone said something he did not agree with.

 Robert told him it was a Tyrell trait.

 Renly just thought it was… endearing.

 Finally they broke free from the corrupted walls of the NYPD and hurried back to Renly’s apartment, the anticipation coupled with the cold making Renly faster than was most likely acceptable given the road conditions. Hurrying up the steps of his apartment, he ripped one glove off with his teeth and fiddled with his keys before unlocking the door. Letting Loras in first, he closed and locked the door after they were both inside.

 “Did you want some coffee or a drink?” he asked as they shed their many layers—scarves and gloves and jackets and hats all being disbanded at the door. Renly watched as Loras took his suit jacket off as well and rested it on the back of a chair, revealing his slim waist that was hugged so well by a fitted black vest, his shoulders covered by a supple leather gun holster. Tugging his silk green tie down slightly, Loras turned around and shook his head.

 “No, not unless you wanted something.”

  There was definitely something Renly wanted.

 “I’m fine, I just thought a bit of brandy might warm you up,” he explained as he shed his own suit jacket. Plucking Loras’ up from the back of the chair, he hung the two up in the living room closet before turning around to watch as Loras peaked around the room, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside and the set of Christmas lights surrounding the window. “What are you looking for?” he asked as he divested himself of his gun holster. Hanging it up, he checked his gun to make sure the safety was on before holding his hand out to take Loras’.

 Examination his own gun carefully and seemingly satisfied it too was safe, Loras took off his holster and passed it over without complaint. “Just wondering when we will go to the bedroom.”

 Loras was bold; Renly liked that. “Come with me,” he said, leading Loras down a short hallway before they entered his bedroom. Turning on a light, he sat down on the edge of his bed and began to unlace his shoes, letting Loras inspect the room, his inquisitive nature once again taking over as he slid his hand against an oak dresser before standing in front of a full length mirror. The walls were a rich green, warm in tone and inviting, while most of the furniture was dark stained wood. His bed was larger than most beds—a Queen instead of a double—and was covered in soft white sheets. The sound of a tin being opened was heard in the corner, and Renly raised his head as he finished unlacing his shoes just as Loras flipped open the tin holding his hair gel.

 “We use the same brand,” he remarked as he smelled the mint in the gel before closing it. Turning around, he returned to the bed and sat down beside Renly, unlacing his shoes. That was when Renly saw his hands were shaking, usually deft fingers fumbling ever so slightly as he pulled thin laces apart. Renly didn’t say anything, letting him work through the process at his own speed as he took his own shoes off and went to his bedroom closet to place them amongst the numerous other pairs.  Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he stood by the bed and off to the side, giving Loras space as he finally divested himself of his shoes. Standing up, he ran a hand through his hair and smiled softly at Renly who readily returned it.

 Renly took the first step, noticing that Loras seemed nervous. It wasn’t outwardly evident, but Renly had begun to pick up on his certain ticks. There was trepidation in his eyes while he rocked back on his heels now and again, body taught and smile shaking. For a moment Renly didn’t want to continue; maybe Loras was not ready for this. Maybe he’d never be ready. Just the other day the news had a report on how Communists and homosexuals were the most un-American group of people—a stigma that was not easy to get past.

 But behind the trepidation and the hesitation was very obvious desire mixed with determination, and Renly reached out to grab his silk tie, tugging him close before kissing him on the lips. It was slow and unhurried, Loras relaxing as he pressed back. Closing his eyes, Loras opened up under Renly’s lips, mouth parting as a tongue darted out to swipe across his bottom lip. Wasting no time, Renly explored his partner’s mouth with ease, his free hand going to rest on Loras’ hip while the other continued to hold the tie.

 Eventually Loras pressed in close, a hand cupping Renly’s cheek as they shared breath. When they broke apart, Renly could feel he had calmed down, breathing slow and steady, eyes heavy lidded as they looked at each other. Smiling, he kissed him quickly before tugging the tie down, the brush of silk against finely pressed fabric the only sound in the room as he removed it completely. Tossing it on to the dresser beside them, he kissed him again when Loras went to do the same, the black tie with gold swirls coming off and landing on top of the green. After that their clothes were shed in a slow pace, Loras settling it as they explored each other’s bodies. Once their shirts and undershirts had been discarded and their chests were exposed they moved to the bed, hands discovering each other’s frames as they kissed and caressed, Renly bracing himself on top of Loras.

 Loras’ skin was soft under his touch; skin heated as fine hairs brushed against his hands. Loras’ own hands danced across his back, pressing against his shoulder blades and down to his slim waist, gliding against his sides as his muscles twitched and body ached for more. Sucking on Loras’ bottom lip, Renly bit down on it gently, a small growl rumbling forth as Loras arched under his touch.

 He wanted to get him naked then and there and pound him into the mattress. He wanted to touch him all over and make him his. He wanted to grab and bite and take all of Loras—months of sexual frustration and pent up desire busting at the seams as they slowly touched and explored. But instead he held himself back, their kisses deep and passionate but slow, Renly’s touches sure and confident as Loras became acquainted with another man’s body. Renly wanted a repeat of this, and being too fast and rough would only push Loras away— make him wilt when he wanted him to blossom.

 Sitting up after some time, Renly ran a hand through his hair, shaking it from its hold so it hung in front of his face as he began to play with Loras’ belt. “Can I take this off?” he asked, watching Loras run a hand through his own hair, the natural wave making Renly want to muss it up further.

 “Go ahead,” he replied, voice lower than usual. The sound sent a spark of pleasure right through Renly, making his cock twitch and his lips turn upwards into a lazy smile. Tugging the belt up and off, he listened with intense satisfaction as the leather ran against his waist, before the sound of the metal hitting the floor beside the bed hit their ears with a satisfying ‘clack’. Flicking the top button open, he stroked Loras carefully through his slacks as he undid the other buttons before slipping his hand down and under to feel him through his underpants.

 Gasping, Loras’ hips shot forward, cock pressing hard and insistent against Renly’s palm as he grasped the sheets and bit his bottom lip. The contact was obviously foreign, and Renly relished in the thought that he was the first man to touch him like this—well, second. Loras had no doubt touched himself more than once.

 The images that thought placed in Renly’s head was entirely too erotic.

 Continuing to palm him through a thin layer of cotton, Renly watched Loras’ reactions, breathing increasing as a blush bloomed across high cheekbones. Hazel eyes looked down at his hand, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted as he thrust into his touch. “A-Are you going to get on with it?”

 Raising a brow, Renly let out a soft laugh and pulled his hand out before tugging Loras’ pants and underpants off. Lifting his waist, Loras helped with the adventure before he lay sprawled out on the bed, graceful limbs covering much of it as he stayed exposed and completely bare. But he did not shy away from his nudity and instead let Renly’s eyes wander, a certain amount of pride on his features as Renly soaked it all in.

 He was a sight to behold. Long of limb and toned, his skin shone with a thin sheen of sweat as he comfortably lay atop Renly’s blankets, one hand resting beside his head on the pillows while the other traced a pattern around his bellybutton. Eyes dropping to his groin, Renly let out a soft, appreciative sound as he admired his cock. Long and thick, it swelled in size with every breath he took, bobbing slightly with the beat of his heart while heavy balls pressed close to his body.

 “You’re gorgeous, Loras,” Renly managed to state, for once at a loss for words as he stared at his partner. And now his lover. That thought made him giddy, a sense of happiness welling up inside him. Loras was all his.

 “Thanks,” was the rushed reply as Loras sat up and cupped Renly’s face between his hands, pulling him in for a deep, needy kiss. Wrapping an arm around his waist, he pulled him in close as they embraced, hungry for each other as Renly grasped his thigh and slid his hand up to run through thick, course curls. Breaking the kiss, Loras let out a soft moan, eyes closing as Renly’s hand rubbed the base of his prick. Ducking his head down, he kissed and nipped his throat as Loras thrust gently upwards, hips moving on their own accord.

 “I want you naked, too,” Loras managed to get out, voice insistent. More than willing to do as he requested, Renly sat back and began undoing his belt in haste as Loras added his hands into the mix. With their combined speed they managed to strip him all the way in what Renly believed to be a world record.

 Finally naked, he sat in front of Loras, allowing him to take in his form with luxurious ease. He enjoyed the way Loras took him, that same, intense stare he had when at the scene of a crime replaying on his face now. He was taking in every detail, eyes hungry and hands exploring as he touched his thighs and stomach. Their eyes locked a moment, and Renly let out a startled hitch as Loras grabbed his cock in a confident hold.

 Looking back, Renly would always be surprised at how forward Loras was their first time, but he knew he shouldn’t have been. He was a confident man—sometimes too confident. Sex should not have been different by any stretch of the imagination, and any of the anxiety Loras had been feeling at the beginning of their venture was all but gone as he moved in to kiss him deeply, hand stroking up and down on his member. Reaching forward, Renly began to rub Loras’ cock in turn, the two of them pressing closer as they kissed. Pushing Loras back down on to the bed, their lips still joined as they moved, Renly hovered above him a moment before pressing their forms together completely.

 The feel of his lover, so hot and strong against his body made him duck his head into the crook of Loras’ neck, breathing in his scent as the sensation washed over him. It felt good to be like this with someone again; the intimacy and the sheer pleasure of being with another man a welcome feeling to Renly who had spent years looking for someone who could fulfill his desires. Breathing in the heavy scent of aftershave, tobacco and musk, mixed in with a hint of mint from the gel they both used, Renly began to grind their hips together, Loras’ breathy little moans stimulating him further.

 Strong hands braced themselves on his forearms, squeezing down as their cocks rubbed together. Legs tangling, Renly could feel every breath pass through Loras’ full lips to brush against his ear and hair. Reaching up, he cupped the side of Loras’ head, fingers tangling in wavy locks as he increased their pace, the bed rocking slightly.

 Loras’ boldness made Renly a little more willing to go an extra step with him, deciding that he would not spook or scare. Again, he should not have been surprised; Loras was a capable detective and a Tyrell, a cocky combination according to those around him. Biting his shoulder playfully, he began to move down his form, applying kisses and bites as he did so.

 “W-Where are you going?” Loras panted out, question trailing off at the end as it was answered. Sitting up slightly, Loras rested his torso back on his locked arms as his legs spread on their own accord, Renly going to lie between them. His legs were dangling off the end of the bed, and if he wasn’t carefully he would most definitely fall. However, he kept his balance and reached out to stroke Loras’ prick, the skin hot and the weight comforting in his hand. Smirking up at Loras, he blew a bit of air on the tip that was leaking pre-cum already, before his mouth covered the head.

 That made Loras fall back on to the mattress, a groan followed by a few swears spilling forth as he thrust upwards. Bracing a hand on his hip, Renly let him thrust gently into his mouth, but kept a hand firmly locked in place should he get too eager.

 Renly was good at sucking cock—at least, that was what he’d been told. It wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed doing but he wasn’t opposed to it, either. And doing this for Loras—making his partner curl his toes and turn into a babbling mess— was worth the ache in his jaw and the taste on his pallet. He wanted Loras to remember this experience; he wanted Loras to want to repeat it. As often as possible.

 Moving down further, he began to bob up and down as he stilled Loras’ hips with a gentle press. His free hand went to roll his balls in his palm, stimulating him as much as he could. After some time he could feel the pressure building up in Loras, muscles tightening and breathing hitching. Lifting his head just in time, he jerked his prick a few times before Loras was coming, ribbons of cum splashing across his stomach as he moaned out Renly’s name. Watching him ride his orgasm, Renly enjoyed the sight before him, Loras’ body tight as his head tossed back, neck muscles straining and hips lifting upwards, Renly’s name repeated like a mantra.

 It did not take long before his body suddenly relaxed, endorphins rushing through his body making him limp and pliable. Resting on the bed, Renly removed his hand with care and applied a kiss to his inner thigh before moving up to kiss him slowly on the lips. Loras was malleable and opened his mouth to let their tongue brush, one hand reaching up to tangle in Renly’s hair while the other strayed down to stroke his cock. The feel of Loras’ hand against his member after it had been neglected was  welcome, body shuddering as his partner worked him with ease, thin fingers moving down to caress his balls before they were up and over the head, a thumb collecting pre-cum.

 The thought of Loras doing _this_ to himself was what eventually sent Renly over the edge, and he broke away from the kiss, resting his forehead on Loras’ shoulder as he went through the motions, pleasure ripping across him like a wave, igniting his senses and setting him on fire.

  Calming completely on his bed when he was done, Renly let out a relieved sigh and closed his eyes as he lay next to Loras, breathing evening out and heart rate decreasing. A moment passed in which nothing was said, before Loras’ voice broke the silence. “Do you have a mint—your breath was god awful.”

 Renly couldn’t help but laugh, a smack to Loras’ arm accompanying the sound. “It’s your dick my mouth tastes like,” he stated, defending himself as he slowly sat up and got out of bed. Opening a tin on his dresser, he pulled two sticks of gum from a packet he kept in with a few other little bits and bobs. Returning to the bed, he passed one to Loras before unwrapping his own and stuffing it in his mouth. Going to the bathroom, he let Loras have his moment as he grabbed a towel and wet it, cleaning his thighs, groin and stomach then returning with a towel for Loras.

 Loras seemed relaxed enough on the bed, the rush not having left him feeling vulnerable and exposed. Renly was not going to underestimate him again. Taking the towel with a thank you, he cleaned himself off before passing it back. Tossing it in the laundry hamper, Renly eased back into the bed, still too heated to get under the blankets. Instead they lounged on top of it, the soft glow from the light in the room casting shadows across their forms. “So…”

 “So…”

 Smiling, Renly ran a hand through his hair, pushing a few strands away from his brow before going to lie on his side, head propped up on his hand as he looked at Loras. “How was that?”

 Shrugging, Loras rested his arm behind his head, smiling. Hazel eyes framed with thick lashes flicked up to look at him, and Renly had to move down for another kiss, this time spearmint the only taste exchanged. “It was swell,” he mumbled against his lips as they broke apart.

 “Swell?” Humming in agreement, Renly kissed him again before resting his head on Loras’ shoulder, cuddling close. He loved to nuzzle—loved to feel the press of another body against him, a heartbeat beating so close to his own. It was comforting. Loras’ arm wrapped around his shoulder with ease, and the two lay on the bed, legs tangled as the snow outside continued to fall.

 “You were like Clark Gable.”

 That made Renly grin like an idiot, eyes drifting closed. “How do you mean?”

 “You were a gentleman about it all. I almost felt like Vivien Leigh. Always asking how I was, asking to strip me when I could tell all you wanted to do was pound into me... It was nice.”

“I try.”

 Fingers ran back and forth on his shoulder, and he let out a content sigh before Loras’ voice broke the silence once more. “Next time we do this, though, you don’t have to ask if I’m alright every time. And you can be a little more forceful. I’m not some breakable woman.”

 All Renly heard was ‘next time’. That was good enough for him. 


	6. Dinner Parties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this
> 
> Warning: MalexMale sex
> 
> Authors Note: Once again, thanks for the support! Things are going to get a little more complicated from here on out.

 He enjoyed the taste of coffee. It was bitter and harsh, the heat burning your throat as it hit the back and trailed down, warming you from the inside out. The scent was what drew most people in, followed by the kick it gave to those who needed it. Renly, however, actually enjoyed it for its taste. A few packets of sugar and a bit of cream were all he needed to appreciate the beverage, and he savoured every sip as it warmed his palms and tickled his nose.

 Clasping his half-filled mug, he watched his brother through the steam as it danced up and away from the toffee coloured top. The clink of cutlery in the diner and the buzz of conversation soothed both of the Baratheons, a full stomach lulling them further into relative comfort.

 “You sure you don’t want this?” Robert asked for the sixth time as he held out a bowl of fruit salad. It had come with the meal, but Robert found the acidic taste of grapefruits and oranges too harsh in the morning.

 Shaking his head, Renly sipped his coffee before placing the mug back down on the table. “I had my own bowl,” he said, indicating his empty plate, bits of toast crumbs and a bowl with left over fruit juice in it sitting on the white ceramic plate. “I ate before you, remember? You were late.”

 Robert grunted, and that was the best apology Renly would receive.  “Did you get your heater fixed?” He said it between a mouthful of egg, the fork not stopping as he wolfed down the food as quickly as possible. Renly wondered if he was really that famished or was just pressed for time. Or, perhaps, he was fighting off a hangover.

 They were all strong possibilities, and most likely it was a combination of all three.

 “Yes, it was fixed last week; just in time for spring blooms to blossom and the snow to melt all the way.” Robert snorted at the remark, shoved a few more eggs into his mouth before swallowing a large amount of coffee in one gulp. Renly suppressed the urge to grimace as the taste of egg and coffee no doubt washed over his brother’s pallet. “What is it you wanted to talk about?” he asked after a time. Robert never just asked Renly out for breakfast at the diner a half block away from the precinct.

 “Your partner,” Robert began, finishing his eggs with a burp and a swipe of a napkin across his lips. “He’s doing well?”

 Shrugging, Renly sat back in his chair, one hand resting on the sticky table as he tapped his finger against the warm coffee mug. “As well as can be expected—why? Do the Tyrells want a report on him or something?” From what Loras told him, they liked to keep close tabs on their family.

 “No, I’ve just noticed an increase in cleared cases from you. You work well together.”

 Yes, yes they did. In more than one way.

 “Stop looking so smug,” Robert said. “Anyways, the Tyrell boy has been getting a lot of attention from a few other precincts in the State and New Jersey said they want him.”

 That made Renly lose his smile, although it was a slow drop as he tried to hide the fear that had shot through his system. He knew partners were moved around all the time, but he never thought they’d switch Loras out. “But we work well together, Robert; why would you break us up when we’ve got more cleared cases than this precinct has ever seen?”

 Waving his hand around, Robert gave Renly a pointed stare over the mug of his own coffee, an eyebrow raised as Renly slowly began to ramble about why Loras shouldn’t be moved. “I’m not letting them take him,” Robert said as soon as Renly had quieted down. “Do you really think I’m that fucking stupid?” A gasp from one of the ladies at a booth nearby made Robert roll his eyes as he turned to apologize for his ‘course language’. Bouncing his leg up and down, Renly waited impatiently as Robert repaired the minimal damage with some broad who he’d never see again, and smiled amicably at another young woman a distance away near the counter who was giving him a rather enticing stare.

 Sometimes Renly wanted to test it out; fuck a woman, just once. But those thoughts always went out the window when he remembered how fantastic it was to feel another man’s cock in his hand, and to hear that masculine moan reverberate against his own chest while—

 “—so he’s not going anywhere. I just thought you should know there is some political bullsh—pucky. Political bullpucky going on surrounding _your_ partner.” Returning his attention to the here and now, Renly nodded, relief flooding through his system as Robert’s words sunk in. Loras wasn’t going anywhere…

 “Thank you—I mean, thanks for letting the kid stay here. He’s got family in New York,” he explained as he looked at his watch. He was due in in five minutes. “Look, I’ve gotta go—I have actual work to do.” Sliding out from their booth Renly grabbed his jacket and hat from the coatrack beside their table before throwing some cash down. “That’ll cover my plate and the tip.”

 Winking, he tipped his hat and was about to leave before Robert grabbed his arm, meaty fingers large and imposing over his forearm. Looking at his hand and up to his brother, Renly raised a brow. “Don’t get too attached, Renly.”

 The way he said it—the tone and tenor—made Renly pause, eyes narrowing slightly. Did he… know? No, he couldn’t possibly know. Robert had deluded himself into thinking Renly was involved with women no one knew about long ago. But still… “You don’t have to worry about that, brother. We’re just partners; half the time we don’t even go out for an obligatory after work drink.”

 That seemed to please Robert, and he let go, nodding. “Good—just keep in mind that the Tyrell could transfer one of these days. Or quit—I swear his face wasn’t made for detective work; he looks more like fucking James Dean or whatever his name is.”

 The gasp from the lady once again distracted Robert, and Renly took that as his cue to leave, slipping his jacket on as he stepped out of the café and into the fresh spring downtown air. Walking the half block to the precinct, Renly mulled over what Robert had said, hands stuffed in his pockets as he sauntered down the wide sidewalks.

Entering the small and cramped office he and Loras shared with another pair of homicide detectives on the third floor, his grinned as he saw the familiar face of his lover scribbling away on a report.

 “Guess where you were going to go,” Renly drawled out, sitting down across from Loras, chair creaking as he swivelled it around and put his feet up on the desk, his conversation with Robert no longer a concern as soon as he saw Loras. Attention slowly leaving whatever he was writing, Loras cocked his head to the side, an eyebrow raised in expectation. “New Jersey.”

 Loras pulled a sour face. “Have you heard a Jersey accent?”

Laughing, Renly slid his hat off and tossed it on to his desk before dropping his feet back down. Leaning forward he rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Robert says you’ve been getting a lot of attention from all around. He may have mentioned something about your incredible track record—which I may remind you is partly because you’re partnered with me—and said that New Jersey was trying to get you to come to their homicide desk. Robert is telling them they can stuff a Chinese firecracker up their ass and light it.”

  Smiling, Loras put his pen down and pulled out a pack of smokes from his desk drawer. Lighting one, he leaned back and took a long drag. “You seem happy about that.”

 Shrugging, Renly leaned forward on his desk, reaching across to snag Loras’ fountain pen. “Why wouldn’t I be? You make me look good.” Smirking, he fiddled with the green and gold pen as Loras took another drag, the smoke billowing forth from between full lips.

 “There is no way I would go to New Jersey,” Loras stated as he flicked some ash into an ashtray. “You don’t have to worry about me leaving you.”

 “You’re going to stick with homicide, too?” Renly tried to hide the slight doubt in his voice, but Loras grabbed hold of it and tugged on it with a simple, knowing look.

 “No, Renly, I’m happy here being your partner.” They were both grinning like idiots when one of the other homicide detective—Sam Tarly—walked in and nodded at the two of them, Renly casually leaning back in his chair, distancing himself from Loras.

 “Hello, boys! Any interesting cases you’re working on?” Sam was a smart boy who noticed details almost as well as Loras. Unfortunately, he lacked the strong stomach and steel nerves it took to be a real police officer. His partner, Jon Snow, regularly regaled Renly and Loras with stories of how Sam had to dry heave in some bathroom anytime they came across a particularly gruesome murder.

 The only redeeming quality was he was incredibly intelligent. If only he could get over his thing about blood.

 “Just clearing up a case that turned out to be an accident,” Renly explained as Loras finished his smoke and went back to work. “Turns out the old man wasn’t hit on the back of the head in the shower—he just slipped and fell.”

 “Aw, that’s a shame. Or is it a good thing? I just mean, it’s a shame he died, but at least he wasn’t murdered? But, I mean, it sort of wasted your time, too… and the districts. Oh, that’s just an all-around shame.”

 Renly liked Sam.

XX

 This was awkward.

 This was _terribly_ awkward. Renly had been in some strange situations and even stranger dinner parties before; it was to be expected coming from the Baratheon household. Whenever Robert invited him and Stannis over for dinner it was like they were doing some strange dance, each of them saying things and making quips as they tried to get their point across without outright stating it. And Cersei would sit off to the side with her children, red fingernails clicking against the stem of a wineglass as she watched the volley of accusations and hidden double-entendres increase as the courses flew past.

 Renly would always leave those parties with a certain amount of smug satisfaction at having made Stannis red in the face, the vein in his forehead throbbing with each grind of his teeth after a particularly good quip.

 But this… this was a different sort of tension.

 The Tyrell family had invited him over for dinner. While Renly had been more than willing to accept, Loras seemed hesitant to even _tell_ Renly of the invitation. He asked after a late night mission, the two of them sitting in his car outside Loras’ apartment. It was a quick and casual, Loras making it sound as if it wasn’t important and if he was too busy he could easily say no.

 Part of Renly had wanted to say no just to save his lover the anxiety. But the other part—the more demanding part—told him to accept. He needed to please the Tyrells for the sake of his own family (as much as he hated it), and if meeting them for dinner was expected he would do it. Besides, he was slightly curious as to why Loras was so fearful of them meeting. He was a charming and talented, not to mention good looking—what wasn’t there to love?

 And that appeared to be the very issue. As soon as he walked in the door, a bouquet of roses for Mrs. Tyrell and a bottle of wine for Mr. Tyrell, he was quickly introduced to a Miss Margaery before anyone else. Small and petite, she was only a year younger than Loras and was a pretty little thing. Long, curly brown hair was pulled up into a neat bun, rose flower clips adorning it while pearl ears matched her necklace. Large hazel eyes peered up at him with bright intelligence, and ruby red lips broke out into a smile anytime he looked at her.

 This was a set-up.

 The entire evening so far was spent with Mr. Tyrell going on about politics and the accomplishments of particular families, while every now and again their grandmother—Olenna was her name—decided to draw Renly’s attention to some other sort of gossip, and he had no choice but to nod and agree, everyone’s eyes on him. It wasn’t _that_ bad—not until the conversation turned towards Margaery.

 “She’s going to College, you know,” Mace said, chest puffing out a little. “Tell him what you’re taking.”

 Placing her teacup down on the table beside the after dinner biscuits, she smiled at Renly from across the table as Loras began to glower, eyes downcast and hands clasping his napkin under the table. “I’m studying law, actually.”

 “That is very impressive,” he said. He meant it, too—it was no small feat getting into law as a woman; most chose to take courses that would aid them in the home. Renly respected women who went off the beat and track in an attempt to better themselves. Like Anna Leonowens. “How long have you been attending for?”

 “Two years, but I will be done in another two—at least, I hope I will. You know how things are; no matter how much you plan things usually don’t always work out that way! Perhaps I’ll get tired, pack up my bags and go travel.” She said it with a hint of playfulness in her tone, but Renly could tell she was somewhat serious.

 “She’s top of her class amongst the girls,” Willas chimed in from the other end of the table, voice soft and delicate. “You’re on the honours, are you not?”

 Nodding, Margaery smiled that pretty smile of hers from across the table, a blush appearing on her cheeks. “I did make honours, but I have to keep getting high marks to stay on the honour roll,” she explained. “Loras was top of his class at the academy, weren’t you?”

 Loras brightened up right away, head rising and an easy smile appearing. Renly could see it was strained. This was all so difficult. Did they not think he couldn’t tell what they were trying to do? “Yes, I was, sister. But I think Renly already knows all about that—we have worked together for a year now.”

 “With all of this fine work she’s been doing, it’s no wonder she hasn’t found the time to find a good man and marry!” Mace declared loudly, and there was polite laughter around the large table before Olenna began to speak, complaining about how the cakes were too dry and how Renly probably did not care to hear about the ‘blindingly glorious deeds of the Tyrell family while he was trying to enjoy his coffee’. Interestingly enough, she seemed the least willing to press Margaery upon him, and whenever she caught his gaze he felt terribly exposed. Almost as if she _knew_ …

 The rest of the night played in much the same fashion, and Renly was incredibly relieved when it came time to leave. Standing at the front door, he thanked the butler for his jacket and hat, and began to get ready before Loras asked for his things.

 “Weren’t you staying for the weekend?” Alerie asked, a hint of disappointment as Loras rested his jacket over his arm and took his hat.

 “That was the plan, but I have some paperwork I need to finish up and it’s been eating at me all evening,” Loras explained as he kissed his family member’s cheeks. “You don’t mind driving me back into the city, do you?”

 Shaking his head, Renly smiled. “Not at all, I was going there anyways.”

 Saying their goodbyes and thanking them for their hospitality and the ‘wonderful evening’, Renly managed to retrieve his hand from Mace’s strong handshake and followed Loras out of the house and down the steps. Trailing behind, he watched as Loras trudged down the laneway, footsteps fast and hard against the pavement as they neared the Thunderbird sitting down at the end of the lane.

 Not saying anything, Renly continued with his slow pace, even when Loras arrived at the car and stood impatiently near the door, jaw clenching. It reminded Renly a bit of Stannis, and he tried to remove that image from his head as he finally got to the car and casually unlocked it. Not even waiting for Renly, Loras got in and slammed the door closed before roughly pulling the seatbelt out from the bottom of the seat and jamming it into the locking system. Getting in on his side, Renly tried to stay casual as he started the car and pulled away, already knowing why Loras was so upset.

 Nothing was said for some time as they drove down the street, finely manicured lawns hidden by large stone walls in the trussed up suburban neighbourhood on each side of them, the road winding and narrow, an obvious attempt to slow traffic.

 “Turn down here,” Loras said, his voice breaking the silence like a shot in the dark.

 “Why?” Renly asked, doing what Loras demanded even as he asked the question. Driving down the smaller road, Loras didn’t answer and told him to make another turn down a park path, headlight beams guiding their path through the trees and shrubbery that lined the side. Coming to a dead end, Renly pulled the car to the side and put it in park before letting it idle. That didn’t last long, however, as Loras reached over and pulled the keys from the ignition before undoing his seatbelt, getting out of the car and slamming the door. Sitting still, confusion written all over his face, he waited. The sound of the backdoor being unlocked clicked in the car, and Loras appeared in his rear-view mirror, face sullen and eyes hidden by shadows.

 “Get back here with me,” he once again demanded, reaching across to unlock the other side.

 “You know,” Renly began, trying to lighten the mood as he undid his seatbelt. “If you’re going to kill me you shouldn’t do it in the car—it’ll leave blood stains all over and you need to drive this beauty back into New York if you want to get home.”

 He explained all of this as he got out and went to sit in the back. He didn’t even have the door closed for more than a split second before Loras was on him, strong hands grasping his face as insistent lips covered his own in a needy kiss. Responding immediately, Renly grasped Loras’ forearm in a tight hold as he opened his mouth up, Loras’ tongue shoving in as soon as his lips had parted. Rubbing their tongues together, Loras dominated the kiss as one hand moved down to roughly grab at his belt, tugging it open before sliding it off and tossing it down to the floor of the car. Shifting slightly, Renly ended up half lying on the seat, one leg on it while the other dangled off, Loras in between his legs as he bit his bottom lip hard.

 Groaning, the back of Renly’s head hit the window of the door as Loras pulled away and moved to bite his earlobe, sucking on it in turn. One hand braced on the back of the seat while the other grasped Loras’ shoulder, Renly squeezed his eyes shut as Loras bit and kissed his neck, hands eventually opening his pants up before sliding down to grasp his cock in a steady hold. 

 He knew exactly why Loras was doing it—he wasn’t a detective because he lacked intuitive nature. Loras was jealous and upset; jealous because of what his family was obviously doing, jealous because Renly had been outwardly accepting of the attempts and upset because he knew this was going to happen and Renly went ahead with it anyways. Renly felt partly responsible for the awkward evening, and thought for a moment it should be his hands on Loras as he made it up to him on his bed. Instead they were in the back of his car, windows fogging up as Loras bit down harder than necessary underneath his jaw while he jerked his cock until it was hard and throbbing.

 Breaking away, Loras tugged Renly’s pants down further before ducking his head down to encase the tip of Renly’s cock in his mouth, the humid air inside the car hitting his prick before hot, wet heat encircled it. Crying out, Renly’s head hit the window again as he grasped the seat and held on, Loras’ mouth sucking and bobbing—up and down, up and down.

 Opening his eyes, he looked down and watched as Loras worked his member, hair shining in the moonlight as his face became visible before getting lost in the shadows as he moved back down. Renly couldn’t read his face but he didn’t need to. The speed and the fervour at which Loras was working him was enough of a message.

  _You’re mine._

As soon as Loras started humming around his dick and going down as far as he could, Renly began to unravel further, hips jerking forward every time Loras lifted his head up, desperate for that heat and tongue and the press of his cheek against his glands. A few more pumps and Renly was tugging at his shoulder, hips lifting up as he tried to get him off in time. “L-Loras I’m going to c-come,” he panted out, but Loras didn’t stop and Renly _couldn’t_ stop and he was coming, a bright light flashing behind his eyes as he let out a strangled gasp and punched the side of the car door, Loras’ mouth hot and needy as his body rocked in pleasure.

 As he came down from his orgasm, he could hear the distinct pop of Loras’ lips leaving his prick over the rush of blood in his ears, and he let out a low whimper as his dick was once again exposed to the cool air. Sitting back between his legs, Loras wiped his swollen bottom lip clean, thumb sliding along the corners of his mouth, his chest heaving as he panted heavily. Sitting up Renly tucked himself back in properly, eyes downcast as he righted himself.

 Loras had never swallowed his load before. Thinking back, Renly hadn’t even done that for him. It was…intimate. Incredibly intimate.

 “Did you want help with yours?” Renly asked, breaking the heavy silence. Loras did not reply for a minute, and Renly reached out to cup the back of his neck, bringing him over so their foreheads knocked together. The scent of Loras’ breath—cum and coffee—invaded his senses, but Renly kissed him anyways.

 “I’m sorry my family did that,” Loras mumbled, voice soft and low.

 “It’s not your fault.”

 “They’re not going to stop,” Loras whispered, eyes closed as they sat with their foreheads pressed together. “No one knows; no one knows that I like men or that you do. They’re going to wonder why you haven’t asked Margaery out—everyone will wonder why.”

 Renly didn’t know what to say, so he kissed him instead. It slow and deep, the complete opposite of what they had done mere moments ago as they took their time and supported each other. Bringing his hand in-between them, he slid it down the front of Loras’ slacks, feeling a hardness brush his knuckles. Loras’ own hands went to the front, and he undid his belt and buttons, freeing Renly’s hand so he could begin to jerk him.

 Eyes still closed and foreheads still pressed together, they shared breath as Renly pumped him slow and steady, increasing as Loras’ hips humped into his palm. Opening his eyes, Renly stared at the long lashes that framed Loras’ eyes and caressed his cheekbones, his face relaxed before his breathing increased and his brows furrowed, lips parted as he came—a small, needy sound mixing with the slap of flesh against flesh and the squeak of plastic and leather as Loras rocked on the seat.

 Easing him through it, Renly kissed his upper lip gently as he retracted his hand and Loras pulled away, eyes opening as he cleaned himself.

 “We should get going,” Loras said as soon as his belt was back on. The light from the moon covered them deep in shadows, while the utter silence of the night created a bubble around them, making them believe for just a moment they were the only ones in the world.

 “I love you.”

 It came out before he had a chance to stop it. Steady and calm, the words slipped past his lips in the dead of the night, his hand resting on Loras’ thigh. For a moment he wondered if he had actually said it, Loras’ silence oppressive as he simply sat in front of him. Renly was about to pretend it never happened—was about to get out of the back of the car and into the front, willing to forget it in order to save Loras the humiliation of admitting he wasn’t there yet. How could he be when Renly just figured it out himself? He hadn’t even been aware he felt that way for his partner until he said it—the words feeling _so_ right as they came out in a strong declaration in the back of his car, the smell of sex heavy in the air.

 “I love you too.” Loras’ voice broke through Renly’s inner thoughts, pulling him back into the present where Loras sat in front of him, a tentative smile on his lips. They just sat there a moment, smiling those same silly smiles before they began to laugh. It started out as small little giggles before turning into full out merriment.

 “Did we just do that?” Renly asked between chuckles as Loras moved in to kiss him, the two still laughing between the joining of their lips.

 “What? Say we love each other after fucking in the back of your car?” Loras asked, making them laugh even more. They were foolish; stupid and young and entirely irrational. And all they could do was laugh as they realized how fucked up everything was. Homicide partners in 1957, locked in a world where their love wasn’t understood and their relationship never accepted, and where the only place they could say ‘I love you’ was in the back of a Thunderbird in a park at midnight, after having dinner with a family that was trying to pigeonhole them into a heterosexual existence.

 It was so unfair and so completely terrible, and yet they couldn’t help but laugh and smile in an attempt to hold back any tears and screams as they repeated their true feelings in the dead of night.

 All Renly could think, as they drove home and Loras told him he loved him once more, was the advice he’d been given the first day on his job and was repeated to him by his brother in the diner with the sticky countertop: Don’t get too attached.


	7. Harsh Realities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this
> 
> Warning: None
> 
> Authors Note: Sorry, this chapter is a little later than usual! Got caught up with school work and the like-- I'm sure you all know the drill. Thanks for the read and the kudos and the bookmarks!

 Renly always thought it particularly sad when he’d see someone drinking alone. At the bar or in a booth, they’d hunch over their drink of choice, a trail of smoke rising from a forgotten cigarette as they became lost in thought or simply tried to avoid thinking at all. The beverage would be nursed slowly, lips sneaking up over the edge to take in a small amount of the harsh, bitter liquid before it would rest against the table once more, only to be picked up when the man or woman remembered they had it.

 Renly wondered what they were thinking about; why they were alone. He’d make up stories in his head as he sat in his own booth, surrounded by friends or work partners, their banter a nice hum as he imagined why the woman with the pretty but sad smile was sitting at the edge of the bar all alone. Did she just want some alone time, or was she missing someone? Perhaps a lover that had gone on a trip and left her behind. Maybe her lover was a married man, and she was waiting for the chance to tell him he needed to choose; that this wasn’t working anymore and he had to pick between the wife in the house with the white picket fence and the kids, or her—the woman who wanted that white picket fence and the kids but hadn’t had the chance to get that. The woman who just wanted someone to see her potential and take her home for a real dinner and a real date, where she’d be able to laugh and smile without the doubt in her eyes and the shame in her heart that told her she belonged in the shadows. Her love wasn’t worthwhile to be shared with the world. That her love had to be in a motel room late at night after work on some dingy bed where the glow from the neon sign outside reminded her of where she was and what she was doing.

 He always felt a little sad, and wondered why they were sitting alone…

 And now he knew.

 Sitting on a barstool, Renly listened to the soft tinker of the lounge pianist as he played a slow song, the hum of conversation his only accompaniment. Fiddling with a complimentary pack of matches, he stared down at his drink, watching the low lights shine against the amber liquid that stayed sentient in the bottom of his glass.

 He’d always been the type of guy who avoided confrontation and did what was expected of him. As a child he was left to play with himself on their parent’s estate; no other children around to share in his magical adventures where he was the King and his stuffed animals were his subjects. He didn’t care that Stannis thought he was a foolish child or that Robert believed he shouldn’t play with dolls or wear capes. But he stopped when he grew older; put the cape away and hid the dolls when his brothers went off to the war and came back, bloodied and scarred.

 When he was older, that confident streak all Baratheons had blossomed, this time in the form of his passion for the arts and movies. The moving pictures were just becoming main-stream when he visited them for the first time with his nanny. He was fascinated by the flicker of the images across the giant screen—how graceful the people were as they danced and sang, laughed and cried, saved the day and defeated the bad guy. He loved the twinkle in Kathryn Hepburn’s eyes when she had figured something out; loved the lazy smiles of Cary Grant; adored the banter between William Powell and Myrna Loy. He wanted to be like them—he wanted to wear the suits and drink their special martinis that only made them a little tipsy and still utterly charming. He wanted to listen to the music and act with the best of them.

 The glamour and the fame dazzled him.

 But when his brothers turned to him and said they needed him with them at the NYPD, just days before he had planned on telling them he was going to Los Angeles, he smiled and nodded and tucked his suitcase back under his bed, before enrolling in the academy the next day. He wanted something else, but he accepted another. 

 But his personal life was always _his_.

 He would roll over and allow those around him to tell him where he was needed, who he should please, what he should and shouldn’t say (not that he ever listened) and who he should be ‘seen’ with and who to avoid.

 He never let anyone tell him who he could be attracted to. Never let anyone dictate who he could spend his most intimate moments with; who he could share his life with or who he could love and kiss and adore.  Not even society had kept him down when they told him he was as un-American as Commies because he was ‘bent’ or ‘gay’ or ‘queer’. He hid it— of course he hid it. He couldn’t walk down the street holding another man’s hand and he didn’t want to. He had heard about the men who were beaten and even killed because they were homosexual. No one ever said the real reason why their head had been smashed in with a shovel and their body dragged behind a truck out in the country, but Renly and every other gay man out there knew that somewhere on that mutilated corpse the word ‘cock-sucker’ was burned across it.

 But he still embraced his sexuality, only shying from it at the beginning where anything sexual was confusing and daunting. When he knew he liked boys that was it—he accepted it and he clutched it close to his chest. His affections were _his_ and his alone. The only person who got to share in them was who he chose to allow; not Robert who always asked about his love life, not Stannis who would make quips about his sexuality without actually coming out with it, and certainly not society that decided for him that he should fuck a woman rather than a man.

 And for the longest time he put up with it—he put up with the meddling and the poking and prodding. He smiled and joked and made up excuses that appeased everyone until the next Christmas party or New Year’s Gala or Summer Barbeque.

 But now… now he was getting _tired_.

 Remembering his drink, he picked it up and took a slow sip of the harsh liquor that burned a trail down his throat and sat heavy in his empty stomach.

 The conversation with the Tyrells brought it all back to him. Sometimes, on days when it got too much—the fear that someone would find out and beat him or kill him flashing through his mind, the words ‘cock-sucker’ burned across his corpse for the men he worked with to find—he entertained the idea of just… changing. Or at least trying. He could try to love a woman if he wanted it hard enough, couldn’t he? He could be a good husband to a girl out there. He could support her and kiss her on the cheek, compliment her dress and enjoy the home cooked meals she’d make.

 Sometimes he could see it. He’d lie in bed, staring at the wall after Robert once again asked about a girl coming over for the ‘Baratheon Family Dinner’ next time, and he could almost picture it. Sitting in the living room around the radio, the kids in front of it listening to a story while his wife—small and petite and well-meaning—would knit a scarf or a sweater, and he’d be in his ‘favourite chair’ with a newspaper, feet propped up and body relaxed after a long day at work. It was appealing and nice and so domestic and then suddenly he’d be up and out of bed, his throat parched and his hands shaking as he realized that was exactly what he’d been fighting.

 He didn’t want that; not now and not ever. He wanted to go to the precinct in the morning with a cold cup of coffee and a piece of toast sitting in his stomach, where he’d work the cases and solve the crimes. And he’d come home and kiss Loras on the lips, tangle his fingers in his well-pressed shirt and breathe in his masculine, cigarette clouded scent and just stand there against him, his body hard and stable and reassuring. No softness to him at all; all angles and bones and muscles. And they’d both have little to no cooking skills and only a general idea of what knitting was but that was okay—that was what he wanted. It was a hidden love, but one Renly loathed giving up. 

 But he was still so exhausted. He was tired of trying to fit into a world that only wanted him if he was a certain way. No matter how much he dressed like everyone else and styled his hair like everyone else and told the same jokes, he was becoming increasingly worried that someone would know and it would all be over.

 Margaery was a way out. All he had to do was ask her out to dinner once… All he had to do…

 Finishing his drink quickly, he tossed some money down on the bar before going to the back of the lounge, coat draped over his arm as he approached the payphone. Slipping his change into the slot, he dialed a number.

XX

“Are you drunk?”

 The words reached him as soon as he sauntered into Loras’ apartment, coat being tossed across the living room before embracing his lover in a tight hold, kicking the door closed with his foot. “No.”

 “You reek of alcohol,” Loras intoned. Despite the slight accusatory tone to his voice, Renly felt his arms wrap around his waist, cheek resting against the side of his head. Refusing to let go, he closed his eyes and stuffed his face in the crook of Loras’ neck, breathing in that cigarette and cologne scent he had been missing.

 “I was at a bar,” he mumbled into his neck. He may have had a few more drinks after he made the phone-call to Margaery, asking her out to the movies in three days time when he knew he’d have the evening off. Part of him hoped someone would die so he’d have to cancel.

 “How many drinks did you have?”

 “A few.” Sighing, Loras detangled the two of them, hands reaching up to grab Renly’s arms, shrugging him off. Loras’ features were solid and real in front of him, but when he reached out to touch his cheek he realized he was completely off, palm falling to land on his shoulder instead. “I swear I only had a few.”

 He honestly couldn’t remember how many he had to drink; he could have just had a few. He needed to steel his nerves or… or something. Not saying anything, Loras tugged Renly to his bedroom, the small desk lamp in the corner the only light as he sat Renly down on the bed. Swaying a little, he stared at the wall as Loras left the room, his eyes slowly blurring the rose wallpaper. Loras had told him the rose wallpaper was left over from the woman who used to live here, and he’d be getting rid of it as soon as he found the time, but Renly suspected he liked it a little more than he let on.

 “Drink.” Loras’ voice broke him from his gaze, and he looked up to see his partner holding a glass down to him, water dripping off of the side. Taking it, he nodded his thanks before taking a small sip, the water cool against the back of his throat. He managed a few more swallows while Loras knelt down and began unlacing his shoes. Watching him with some fascination, Renly tried not to do anything that would ruin the moment as someone began to take care of him.

It had always been up to him to look after himself when he was in such a condition—no one around to aid him. When he was sick he made his own soup, when he was hurt he bandaged himself up, and when he was sad… well, he consumed alcohol and arrived drunk at whosever place would take him. He’d then crash on their couch as they ranted and raved at him, reminding him repeatedly of his brother and how he’d ruined himself with the drink and that he could do the very same thing.

 Just because he became drunk once in a while suddenly everyone was trying to stop him from even breathing in the fumes of alcohol—as if just because he and Robert resembled each other in appearance, he too would go down his exact same path.

 “—I don’t think you’re like Robert because you’re drunk,” Loras said from his spot crouched before Renly. Had he said all of that out loud? Raising his eyebrows incredibly high, he gazed down as Loras tossed his shoes off to the side, long fingers going to grasp his knees as he stared up at him. “What?”

 “Did I just say that all… never mind.” Waving his hand around, he took another swig from his glass before looking around for a place to put it, hand elevated slightly as he hovered it near the bedside table. He was almost close enough to put it—

 Loras’ hand shot out, the warmth of it leaving his knee to close around his hand. “Let me take that for you,” he said exasperatedly. Letting him take it, Loras placed it down firmly on the surface of the table before standing up. “Get your shirt off—you’ll wrinkle it.”

Doing as Loras said, he began undoing the buttons in a slow, steady manner, letting the increasingly difficult process take over his train of thought, removing him from the downward spiral filled with confusion and self-pity he had been taking all day. “What time do we work tomorrow?”

 “Seven—as always.” Loras’ voice came from behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see he was already half stripped, bare back exposed as he undid his belt and pulled his pants down. Admiring the view, Renly shuffled across the bed and snuck up behind Loras, arms reaching out to wrap themselves around his lover’s torso, tugging his back tight against his chest as he kneeled on his bed.

 “What time is it now?” he asked, applying a sloppy kiss to the back of Loras’ neck. Strong hands grasped his arms, and for a second Renly thought he was going to push him away. Instead, they simply remained locked, as if he was waiting to see what Renly was going to do.

 “It’s ten—you need to go to sleep so you can sit up tomorrow,” Loras advised. Renly wasn’t really listening, the feel of Loras’ bare body against his chest taking away all proper thought processes. The heat working its way through his shirt and into his own skin lulled him further into a sense of calm, and his hand trailed down to slip under Loras’ underpants, grasping his flaccid cock. That was when Loras pushed him away. “Sleep,” he repeated.

 The sudden loss of contact made Renly remember why he had drank so much—as if drinking would make him suddenly want to be with a woman and not Loras. God damn it, why did he call Margaery? Why did he call her and try and convince himself he would be a good man for a good woman when all he was going to do was come back to another man’s place—a man who he loves and says he loves continually—and attempt to fuck away the guilt? Why was he so fucking god damn weak?

 “Fuck,” he growled out, frustration with himself peaking as he got off of the bed and headed to the door, collecting his shoes.

 “Where are you going?”

 “Home,” he replied quickly, voice low as he slipped one shoe back on. He could hear Loras approach him and looked up to see he was now fully naked, a pair of clean underpants and pajama bottoms in his hands. “I shouldn’t have bothered you, tonight,” he mumbled, throat dry as his body responded to the sight of another naked man. That just made him groan, and he knocked his head against the rose wallpaper covered wall-- _hard_. Ask a girl out on a date in an attempt to assert some level of heterosexuality, only to grow a stiff one at the first sight of said girl’s brother’s cock.

  _Pathetic_.

 “What is wrong with you?” Loras implored, reaching out to grasp Renly’s shoulder in a sure hold. He wanted to pull away—wanted to get his other shoe on and leave Loras to his business. He’d talk to him when he wasn’t piss drunk—tell him he asked his sister out on a date and that all of the ‘I love you’ had to stop as soon as it had come because he was weak and scared and so fucking _tired_.

 But then he’d be a liar on top of it all. Because he’d never be able to stop loving Loras. He knew he was the one—there was no way around it. Loras was the one, the only one, the one he wanted and the one he needed and the only person who could make him feel like he fucking mattered as a person rather than a pawn, even when he showed up to his place, drunk and fucking miserable.

 Instead of pulling away from his touch, he found himself being pulled into another embrace, Loras’ hands cradling the back of his head while the other wrapped around his shoulders. Relaxing into the touch, he let Loras guide his head down to his shoulder, and stuffed his face in his neck, skin soft and warm against his nose and cheek. Sliding his arms around his slim waist, he felt the dip in his lover’s lower back, familiar and intimate and everything he wanted and yet shouldn’t.

 “This is all your fault,” he mumbled after some time, his forehead aching.

 Silence, followed by the brush of finger’s behind his ear. “What is my fault?”

 “It’s all your fault that you’ve reminded me that there is someone out there for me,” He didn’t want to say this—he wasn’t even sure if it was going to make sense. He was feeling increasingly sober as each word slipped past his lips, giving him a sense of intense discomfort and exposure—like he was on display. “I always thought I’d just fuck men but I wouldn’t want to be with one for forever. I thought I’d go through life lying to those around me, pretending I had a great dame at home when really all I had was a fling with a guy who was too afraid to commit to this lifestyle—with a guy who just wanted to fuck men but wanted to be normal and have a wife. They were the guys who thought being bent or queer or whatever was something they’d move away from. It was something they _wanted_ to move away from. I didn’t want that long-term partner because I didn’t think I’d ever find one— because really, how fucking common is it to find another guy who you can love in a world like this? Another guy who wouldn’t move on to chicks as soon as he realized how fucking hard it is to be like this; to love like this? In a world where us fags are killed and beaten and tossed into the trash because we love someone? How fucking common is that?

 “But then you come along—you with your perfect smile and your intelligence and grace and ease and temper—you come into my life and you make me realize that I want that stability. That I want to fucking live with you and go dancing with you and go on a vacation with you. I want all of that but I can’t have it— _we_ can’t have it. And you reminded me that I can’t just keep relying on excuses because soon it won’t work. And I’m so terrified that someone who can’t know _will_ know and they’ll hurt me and you… I need to stop being so afraid but I need that stability, Loras… I just need… I mean… I’m just so exhausted, Loras. I’m so _fucking_ exhausted.”

 He was shaking when he was done, one hand gripping Loras’ hip in a tight hold as the other latched on to his own arm, squeezing down and pinching the skin as he kept his face pressed in his lover’s neck. He clasped his eyes shut and hid from the world against the one man who made it all better while making it worse at the same time.

 “What are you saying, Renly?” Loras’ voice was soft and quiet and try as he might to hide it, Renly could still hear the trepidation behind his words—the naivety to the true meanings of Renly’s speech one of age and less experience. Loras was only four years younger but things were already looking better for him. He was blossoming—coming into his own more confident and assured than Renly would ever be no matter how much he hid it. Renly was outwardly strong and confident, but inside he was a scared little boy—and Loras was seeing it and holding him up even as he tried to blame him for everything.

 Loras was so fucking perfect and Renly just wanted to hide in his embrace for the rest of his life. Let this younger, naïve and pure man support him when he was supposed to be the strong, experienced one. When he was supposed to be the one to lift him up and guide him.

 “I’m saying… I’m saying that I need to sleep,” he said, lifting his head slowly to look at Loras. Compassion and love and a small bit of doubt clouded large hazel eyes, but that doubt did not stop him from moving into kiss Renly—slow and sweet.

 He’d tell Loras in the morning. Tell him he was going out with his sister—tell him everything that he couldn’t get out tonight.

 For now, though… now they would just sleep.


	8. A Kiss and a Hit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this
> 
> Warning: None
> 
> Authors Note: And another chapter! Thanks for the support you guys!

 “You’re honestly telling me that you do not find James Dean just a little bit attractive?” A giggle, followed by a gentle squeeze on his arm.

 “No, I don’t! Is it really that hard to believe?” Shaking her head, Margaery beamed up at Renly, her hand grasping his arm as they walked down the sidewalk, taxies and people all passing them as they meandered. “You said you do not find Marilyn attractive! Why should I be any different?”

 Shrugging, Renly smiled and stared straight ahead, watching people’s faces as they passed. “Fine, you have me there, but now you have to tell me who you do like.”

 Humming, Margaery pursed her ruby red lips in thought, eyes narrowing before she perked up again. Renly couldn’t help but laugh as she hopped a little in excitement. “Does it have to be someone I am attracted to or can I choose my favourite based on acting?”

 “Fine, I suppose you could do that,” he replied, nudging her gently with his elbow. “Please, enlighten me as to your favourite actor.”

 “I’ve always been awfully fond of Bela Lugosi in ‘Dracula’!”

 That caught Renly off-guard. Sweet, charming, sophisticated Margaery was into horror films such as Dracula? “’Dracula’?! Truly?”

 It was Margaery’s turn to laugh, her head tossed back, revealing the length of her long, cream white neck. Renly stared at it a moment, trying to find something within him to find it attractive, but all he could think was how good it was to hear someone laugh so freely. “Why do you sound so shocked? A girl can’t like a few good horror flicks?” Raising an eyebrow, she sent him a playful look. “I always get chills when I think about his performance—a small theater a few blocks from us sometimes replays old monster films and I try to go to them when I have a chance. The last I saw was ‘King Kong’.”

 “I love ‘King Kong’!” Renly said excitedly, becoming increasingly amazed at Margaery’s knowledge of movies. When he had asked her to go see ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof’ he hadn’t expected her to know all of the actors and their previous roles, and he certainly hadn’t expected her to love to gossip about the film industry as much as he did.

 But thinking back, he shouldn’t have been; it wasn’t as if he knew too much about her to begin with. Loras told him stories, of course, but he always painted her to be this smart but quiet young woman, who had a wicked streak but rarely let it out. But the way she was talking animatedly down the street, her free hand waving about occasionally as she smiled and laughed and freely displayed her emotions was… new. And refreshing. It reminded him of Loras.

 “You do?” she asked, “I love how they made King Kong himself! Imagine all that time it took to move the clay around and get him to move just right! And what about Fay Wray? Wasn’t she just beautiful?”

 The night Loras got hurt, the look in his dazed eyes as he moved in to kiss him, flashed into his mind for a moment, and he agreed with Margaery quickly.

 And he was once again thinking about Loras.

 Loras, his partner and his lover, a man whom he loved and trusted… and a man whom he hadn’t even told he was taking his sister out on a date. The morning after his confession and his breakdown, Renly hadn’t found it within himself to tell Loras. The kisses they shared in the morning relaxed him, and he just… forgot. Or, tried to forget. Allowed himself to believe he had forgotten.

 Sometimes, it was truly amazing what your mind could do when you didn’t want to do something—what it let you delude yourself into believing.

 “So, who is your favourite actor?”

 Margaery’s voice broke him from his musings, and he pondered the question for a moment as she led them to a bench. Sitting down, she tugged him down and kept her arm wrapped around his arm as they watched the world go by. “Katharine Hepburn,” he finally decided, sure of it once it left his lips. He usually did not pick favourites—waffling between two or three or sometimes five separate ones before he just threw up his hands and said he couldn’t decide. Last year his favourite movie was ‘The King and I’ and this year he had gone back to loving ‘Bringing Up Baby’.

 “Ms. Hepburn? Why?” Margaery inquired, smiling at a small child as she toddled past with her mother. The image made him reach up to tug at his tie.

 “I… admire her. She’s a smart, intelligent woman with a good sense of humour. She lightens up the screen with a smile. She reminds me a lot of you.” The words came out easily enough, as did the smile. He had done this before—charmed women. He liked women; he enjoyed their style and grace, their laughter and their smiles. But he was never attracted to them. Flirtation was something he was good at, though; something he had perfected as a teenage boy. He had fun talking to people—charming them and making them laugh. It was a good feeling. 

 Besides, when a woman smiled like Margaery was right now, Renly felt like he’d accomplished something. Sometimes it felt better than solving a case.

 “Well, Renly—when Loras told me all about you he never mentioned how charming you are.” Her voice was soft and feminine, playfulness behind her words as she moved up and gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek.

 And all Renly could do was smile like Cary Grant as Margaery winked like Katharine Hepburn.

XX

He heard the thud before he felt the impact.

 It took him a moment to realize what was happening—that the hands pressed into his shoulders were harsh and intentional, that the slam to the wall was meant to hurt, and that the rage and hurt in Loras’ eyes was directed at _him_. But when he finally put it all together, when the back of his head stopped throbbing and his vision stopped swimming, he had a split second to close his eyes before he was slammed against his apartment wall again.

 “What the fuck are you doing?” Loras yelled, the door still ajar. Renly opened his eyes to stare at it, first, becoming increasingly more and more uncomfortable as he realized anyone could hear what was being said. It was easier to stare at the wide open door and the red and black tiled floor outside, than it was to face the enraged face of his partner. “I said: What the fuck are you doing?” Another slam, and this time Renly tore his gaze away from the door and looked at Loras.

 “What do you mean?” he asked quickly, trying to push away from Loras who was still very much in his personal space. Hands tightened around his shoulders, and Loras’ nostrils flared, arrogance, anger and confusion written all across his handsome face.

 “Oh don’t fucking play me like that; you’re a detective, work it out.”

 Renly knew what this was about. He’d be an idiot not to have figured it out. Still, it didn’t hurt to play coy. Or perhaps it did, Loras’ grip bruising his skin as he slowly slid down the wall. Loras didn’t seem to care, however, knowing perfectly well that if Renly wanted to get away he could. He just hadn’t chosen to, knowing he deserved this. “Is this about Margaery?”

 Another slam before Loras was pulling away. “She called me up tonight—she told me you took her out. She told me how much of a wonderful time she had with you; told me how fucking charming and sweet you were and how she wanted to go out again.” His voice was overbearing, and Renly desperately wanted to get to the door and close it. But he stayed against the wall as Loras raved, an accusatory finger jamming in his face. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do this?”

 Swallowing thickly, he tried to think of a good excuse, but found none except for the truth. “I was tired,” he replied, lame even in his ears.

 That set Loras off even more, his face contorting before he let out a frustrated groan. Sometimes Renly forgot that Loras was only twenty-three, and that physical violence and outbursts were still second nature to him. “You’re tired? Explain to me what that means, Renly, because I obviously haven’t figured it out.”

 Taking a steadying breath, he walked around Loras, careful to avoid his physical rage as he shut the door and locked it. “I’m tired of being afraid,” he explained, turning around to look at his lover. “I’m sick and tired of lying to everyone about my life and I’m sick and tired of living in constant fear that you or I will get killed. I’m worried and I’m exhausted and I’m just ready to admit defeat.”

 There, he said it. It was out in the open. He felt… he felt worse, actually. If that was at all possible. Loras’ features were unreadable for a moment, before he was up in Renly’s space again.

 “So what—you thought you’d suddenly just forget who you are and what you stand for and just enjoy fucking women? Do you think being with a woman will make you complete in some way or something?!” Loras was so loud, and Renly wanted to get him to quiet down—gag him maybe.

 “I don’t know, maybe I’ll enjoy the taste of a woman—I hear they go well with a fine wine.” He wanted to ease the tension and thought a joke would help; it was what he did. Make quips and generally take any situation and appear unfazed by it all, when inside he was confused and intimidated.

 Loras, however, did not give him reprieve, and his back hit the door again. He was getting sick and—“Don’t fucking do this, Renly—don’t make those comments. You think I don’t know how you tick? How you work? I’m your partner—I read you better than anyone else ever will. You hate confrontations and you hate admitting your true feelings; you close yourself off and you hide and you fucking piss on other people in these situations with your asshole comments. You don’t think I don’t see this in you? How you blow everything off and treat it as if it’s a game because you hate taking anything seriously?”

 Loras was so close Renly could smell the tobacco in his breath and feel every exclamation against his skin. Loras was right—he hated confrontations unless he could verbally deflect it. Say something witty or belittle the person until they backed off. And Loras wasn’t understanding why Renly was so conflicted and wanted to avoid all of this—he didn’t understand what they were doing. He was new and inexperienced and if he could just see for a second what they were doing and how much they were putting at stake by simply loving each other, he’d maybe realize how much Renly was willing to sacrifice in order to keep them both safe. But Loras didn’t see that and Renly was getting more and more frustrated. He just wanted him to appreciate the matter at hand but he wasn’t and it was all falling apart. “You need to get your hands off of me,” he said, calm and collected despite the rage building up inside. He hated confrontations, but that didn’t meant he wouldn’t face them if he _had_ to.  He hadn’t survived in the NYPD by being a push-over. He was the nice guy until you pushed him and pushed him and _pushed_.

 Loras didn’t seem to hear Renly, or if he did he wasn’t listening, rage overtaking him as he continued to stay in close. “And you fucking brought my sister into this—why did you fucking bring her into this?”

 “Because she was available,” he yelled back, eyes wide as the words shot out. It didn’t take long before Loras pulled back only to strike him, his fist connecting with the side of his head, causing it to snap to the side. Pain blossomed on his face and he reacted without thinking, hitting him back. He caught Loras’ jaw in a side strike, his knuckles screaming out as bone connected with bone, but he didn’t worry about that as Loras let out a growl, hand cupping his chin before he was back in, slamming Renly against the wall.

 Trying to push him away, the two grappled before Renly lay a weak hit to his Loras’ gut, making him grunt and falter long enough to let Renly push him away—harder than necessary. Standing against the door, breathing heavily and wondering what had happened and why this had escalated to such a point, he watched as Loras lifted himself up, eyes narrowed and lip split. There were tears in his eyes, and Renly did not know if it was from the pain or frustration, but whatever it was it made him recoil.

 Loras pushed him, he pushed back, and this is where they were. Turned on each other like dogs.

 “I’m sorry,” he whispered, wanting to reach out to him. Instead he stood, arms dangling uselessly at his sides.

 “Sorry for what?” Loras panted out, hand gently cupping his chin.

 “Everything. For giving up when I thought it didn’t matter… for saying I only like your sister because of her availability… for pushing you out… and for hitting you. I’m _so sorry_.”

 Loras stared at him, hurt still in his eyes as they watered. He was hesitant, his walls still up but crumbling slowly. Lips parting, he looked as if he was going to say something before they closed again, the shaking of his body becoming more apparent. He wouldn’t let himself crumble—his youth and arrogance holding him back. But when Renly reached out to him, palm upward, he closed the distance and grasping his hand, let himself be pulled into a tight embrace. Face pressed against his shoulder, Renly could feel a sob break out, hands grasping the back of his vest tightly as he leaned on him. The rage was gone, and with it the adrenaline that kept him going. Now all that was left was the desperation and confusion that had no way to manifest itself other than in tears.

 “Don’t leave me,” Loras mumbled, voice wavering as he tried to hold back. Kissing the side of his head, Renly felt his heart clench as the anxiety leaked through. “You can’t just bring me into this—tell me you love me and then fucking throw it all way because you’re fearful. I need you because… _I’m_ scared.”

 Keeping his arms tight around his shaking frame, Renly rocked them back and forth, eyes closed as he forgot his own problems to support his lover and partner. Once again Renly was reminded of how young he was. Four years made a difference, especially in a world in which you were the exception—an exception that was not accepted. That invincible feeling only lasted for so long.

 Renly wondered when he’d lost that—when that feeling of immortality and the perceived freedom of being homosexual (that being beaten or killed wouldn’t happen to _him_ ) faded. It wasn’t the Tyrell dinner party months ago and it wasn’t his brother’s poking and prodding over the last few years, those two events just part of the larger picture.

 The tug of the scar tissue on his arm reminded him. When that bullet grazed him he realized he wasn’t special—he wasn’t some detective like in the movies who never got hurt or if he did it was easy to recover from. He wasn’t one of the gods from the classic literature who didn’t have emotional as well as physical scars to remind them of past mistakes and personal follies. But he was just Renly Baratheon, an NYPD cop who was mortal like everyone else and needed to be careful like anyone else. It only took six years for it to finally all come crashing down on him and make him realize that he needed to remember he could be hurt; that he did not live on Mount Olympus and neither did Loras nor anyone else he cherished. He was Icarus, not Apollo.

 And his scar was a reminder of how fast he could fall.

 “I’m not going to leave you,” Renly replied, kissing his temple again. He never wanted to leave Loras; he hated the thought of not kissing or hugging him anymore. Hated the thought of sitting across from him at working, knowing how he felt under his hands and his mouth, but never getting to experience it again.

 But he saw no alternative. He loved Loras too much—he didn’t want him hurt. Why couldn’t he see that?

 “I don’t care if you marry a woman one day—I don’t care if you change your principles and your lifestyle because you’re a coward,” Loras began, lifting his head to stare at Renly. “I’m not going to stop loving you and I’m not going to give you up.”

 This was the most beautiful Renly had ever seen Loras. Eyes bright and wide, the glint of tears at the corners, while a single drop lay in thick eyelashes, passion and desperation and foolish love all swimming behind gold and green hues. His hair had come out of its perfect hold, wavy bands resting across his forehead, and high cheekbones were brushed with a pink tint. His lip was bloody and swollen on the side, jaw purpling, but that did not take away from the beauty.

 This was Loras—all of him. He was young and brash; arrogant and cocky; scared and strong and unsure but steady. He was a whirlwind of rash, emotion driven decisions when it came to his personal life, ruled by his feelings rather than the rational thinking. He was cocky and yet hesitant, proud and yet humbled. He was everything rolled into one perfect, contradicting human being. And all Renly wanted to do was love him and protect him and get lost in those gorgeous eyes.

 “I love you,” was all Renly could say, unable to tear his gaze away as Loras stared at him with mournful eyes. “And that’s why I—we need to do this. We need to protect ourselves because no one else will. No one understands what we have.”

 Loras moved in for a kiss then, ignoring the pains in their bones and the almost cacophonous thoughts blaring in their minds.  They ignored  the closed off nature of people that said they were wrong and horrible, and thought only about how they were in love and so doomed that it hurt to _breathe_.

 They were a beautiful car crash. But at least they’d crash together.


	9. Sham Marriages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this
> 
> Warning: None
> 
> Authors Note: Stannis! Finally!

 They said it was a heart attack. Late at night when he had come home from work or the bar—it was hard to tell where he’d been. His wife claimed he’d been drinking, and while most silently agreed, it was never stated aloud except by her.

 Part of Renly wanted to blame her for it. He wanted her to be the cause of it all. But he knew it wasn’t—if the blame had to be placed on anyone it was on Robert himself.

 “—he served with dedicated and unwavering discipline, his heart and soul dedicated to protecting the people of New York City—“

 Sitting up on the stage, Renly tried not to fidget in his official police uniform, tie tight and buttons and medals glinting underneath the light shining in from the tall, grand windows in the church. One of Robert’s old partners was speaking at the moment, waxing poetically on about a man he had put up with for far too long. Ned, Renly decided, had the patience of a saint. Had he been the one up there he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from saying what they were all thinking. Robert had been a good man, once, but he fell into a deep depression he was never able to get himself out of. He drank and he whored and pissed on those around him as he crawled to the top and sat in his large chair, dictating what others should do while he himself did the complete opposite.

 Staring across the way, Renly conveniently blocked the image of Robert’s casket out of his mind, an American flag draped gracefully over it as he stared at Cersei, sitting at the front of the congregation, her children with their brilliant blonde hair all staring up at the image of their deceased father. The bruise on Cersei’s cheek was still visible, and Renly wondered if she had even tried to cover it up with makeup, or purposely left it for everyone to see.

 It disgusted him. But he wasn’t sure who he was disgusted with. Cersei for dragging his name further in the mud when he was already kicked down and locked in a box for the rest of his life; or Robert and how he had hit and abused her mentally for years.

 The thought of him becoming like Robert—like the Robert after the war—made Renly want to run out of the funeral at that instance. He just wanted to leave the sobs from those who remembered him fondly, run from the glares of those who remembered who he was when he died, and he wanted to run from the realization that he was close to going down the same path.

  Ned continued to speak, his low, baritone voice soothing in a way. But Stannis’ grinding of his teeth was beginning to set Renly even further on edge. He shifted beside him, the two dressed in their official blues looking similar and yet completely different. Lines wore away at Stannis’ face, hair going grey prematurely and falling out around the top, until all he had left was a small ring around his scalp and a short-cropped beard. Out of the corner of his eye Renly could see his jaw working back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…

 Renly didn’t know what Stannis was thinking right now—he couldn’t even begin to guess. His reaction to Robert’s demise was less than what most would expect after learning your brother passed away. But Renly’s wasn’t any better. When he heard the news, the phone call breaking through in the early morning, he took the report with ease, nodding and listening carefully before he called Stannis up and began discussing funeral plans. In the morning he took Margaery out for brunch, and she looked at him the entire time with a gaze that wondered when he was going to cry or show any emotion past feigned indifference.

 Her worrying about his lack of grief made him feel worse than his own brother’s death did, and he wished he could feel something more just to appease her. To make her stop looking at him as if he was going to break at any moment or that he _should_ break. He could tell she did not believe his reaction was normal, but then she had never grown up in the Baratheon household where family was blood but not relation.

 Renly respected Robert when he was younger and a part of him would always be grateful for the opportunities he gave him, but he never loved him…

 Margaery didn’t understand that. Loras didn’t understand it. Only Stannis did, which was the funny thing about it all. The only one who understood him was a man whom Renly never loved and never found common ground with before. And now, here they were, sitting side by side as they mulled over the same thoughts, one grinding his teeth while the other tapped idle fingers on his knee, gazes locked on the back of Ned Starks head as he finished his speech and people began to move around.

 “Walk with me.” Stannis’ gruff voice broke through the murmur of voices and the shuffle of bodies, and Renly nodded before standing up to follow him out the back of the church. No one stopped them as they walked away, and Renly was grateful for that.

 Opening the back door, they walked into a small courtyard, the sounds from the outside world muffled in the peaceful sanctity of the inner church. Wandering down a path that ran along a green space, the two said nothing, Renly’s hands stuffed in his pockets while Stannis’ stayed out and tense, as if he wanted to clench them but found no reason to.

 Stopping at a bench, the two sat down and stared at one of the stain glass windows, Christ hanging limp from the cross while reds and browns painted across the glass displayed the severity and the mourning of the scene. “The Lannisters are going to take much of his estate and money,” Stannis said, the two still staring dead ahead.

 “I figured as much—he left a will, didn’t he?”

 A grunt. “Cersei wants her son to go into the force to follow after his father,” There was a hint of irony in his statement, and Renly let himself smirk at that. “Meanwhile, the position of commissioner will be filled by Barristan for the time being, until he retires which will be near the end of the year. That leaves the position of Sergeant open.”

 Renly knew that—everyone in the force knew that. It was a good position; one that many men wanted and only a few actually had a shot of achieving. You needed the right backing and the political mind to navigate the position. Renly had always fancied it a little himself, the thought of being in a place of authority where he could do more than just stare at a corpse while the coroner pulled out a bullet from a heart appealing. And while Robert had been alright at his job, a lot of things went through the cracks—lost or forgotten or bribed away. It was… disgusting, really. Everyone let it happen, though, even if the corruption was rank and seeped into everything you did until you felt like you were choking, but all you could do was let it happen because he was your brother and—

 “I was going to go for the position.”

 Stannis said it loud enough, crisp and clear in the afternoon sun as they both stared at Christ’s mournful face. Renly couldn’t help but laugh. It was a quick little bark, his hand shooting up to cover his mouth as Stannis’ head whipped to the side to stare at him. Eyes narrowing, he watched as Renly chuckled into his fist. “You’re going up for Sergeant?” he asked, calming down to stare back. “ _You’re_ going for Sergeant?”

 “You sound surprised,” Stannis bit back, “Why?”

 There were a million reasons why, but Renly settled on a few. “Because you lack the people skills, you hate politics and you’ve got no personality! Those who strive for that position want to eventually get to Commissioner, and you are nowhere near close enough to ever becoming one.”

 “And I suppose you think you would stand a better chance?” Stannis asked, voice tight and jaw clenched as he stared Renly down. Unfazed, he stared back, an eyebrow raised.

 “I think I could,” he replied calmly. It was Stannis’ turn to snort, his attention leaving Renly’s face to return to the window. “Oh, and why do you think I would be any worse?”

 “You’re young, you’re arrogant, you have no family and you’re in a farce of an engagement. You lack the political mind even less than I do and you’re completely disrespectful to most men.” He recited it easily enough, as if he had been waiting to say it for some time. He probably had been.

Shaking his head, Renly tightened his lips and smiled instead of grimaced. “You really think I’m still some little boy playing around?”

 “You’ve always been a little boy, Renly, and you always will be. You think you’ve grown up, but you’ve yet to make a sacrifice in your life. You’re childish and arrogant.”

 That made Renly angry, but he held his temper back, realizing it’d be like yelling at a brick wall. Stannis had no idea what he had been going through the past few years. He had no idea what he was thinking and how much he was changing himself because he _was_ growing up—because he was realizing how fucked up things had been before and how they had to change. He was getting married in three months because he realized he couldn’t continue to play. But here Stannis was, good old fucking Stannis the Lobster Baratheon, telling him he wasn’t worth anything and knew little of sacrifices. “You’re wrong—although I don’t see why this is any different from any other instance where you think you know something but you don’t. Just sit there, Stannis—sit there and think you know what I’ve become when you’ve been out of my life since you came back from the war.”

  Growling, Stannis’ teeth ground together, the sound abrasive and painful in his ears as he watched his brother hold back what he wanted to say. Always fucking holding back... “The fact that you’ve strung the Tyrell girl along for this long shows me exactly how little you’ve grown up, Renly. You think no one knows? Do you honestly think marrying a woman in such a fashion will prove to everyone you’ve become a man? Do not delude yourself; marrying a woman and buying a house does not make you a man—your children and your legacy is what will prove your worth. You have none right now, so how can you possibly believe you have any right to call yourself Commissioner or any other position of authority when you are still playing childish games?” Stannis had turned to him then, eyes alight with fire as he stared him down. Staring back, Renly did not shrink away from his brother’s gaze, instead finding himself feeling even more defiant.

 “You have no idea what I’ve given up to be where I am today,” Renly retorted, nostrils flaring.

 “You’ve just  given up your extracurricular activities with your partner. But rumour has it you haven’t even given that up, either.” And there it was. Finally, he had said it.

 “For once in your life you finally fucking got something right,” Renly said, not even bothering to deny it. He was marrying a woman and fucking a man—committing both adultery and sodomy weekly. Stannis knew it and he’d use it against him, but Renly was past the point of caring; even if all of his decisions rested on keeping his sexuality closed off and secretive, he couldn’t be bothered to even worry as Stannis stood up and straightened his tie and pressed his jacket down.

 “I will be going for the position of Sergeant, Renly. If you do not support me on this, I can only surmise you have completely disregarded all social morals and protocol. If you want to be a grown-up and make me believe you have any scrap of dignity left in you, you’ll stand aside and bow gracefully out of the running. You do yourself no good will by standing in my way.”

 He left him after that, back straight and stride long as his perfectly polished shoes clicked against the tiles and back into the building. Sitting on the bench, Renly stared at the image of Christ, his holy spirit burning a hole in his vision as he looked at his downfall.

 Christ would rise again. Renly hoped he would be able to as well.

XX

“—so the economy is well on its way to rising further while—“

“—she looked so beautiful, didn’t she? I heard the dress she wore was her mother’s wedding dress, just altered—“

“—the damn commies keep threatening us with nukes and we’ll never get out of this alive—“

“—they make such a lovely couple, wouldn’t you say? I hope their children are just as good looking as they are—“

“—I never really found the appeal in those sorts of stocks and investments but—“

 “Renly, what do you think?”

 Snapping back to reality, Renly broke out into an easy smile, a glass of champagne in one hand, while his other one played with the thick gold wedding band on his ring finger, thumb running along the smooth metal as he pretend to listen to the conversation overtop all of the other chatter and the band playing up on the stage.

 The room was alight with life; people dancing and laughing, conversations had all over the room and out into the hallways, a hum about everyone as the band played lively songs and slow songs, but all of them about love and new beginnings. The lights were bright, the fine crystal shimmering, and the pure white tablecloths complimenting the bright red roses that rested in the middle of each table. The ballroom was filled with people—some Renly knew, others he’d seen in passing, and some he had never seen and probably never would again.

 Tyrell families from all corners of the world it seemed had shown up, and Renly was introduced to almost everyone at least twice throughout the night, his arm gently being pulled one direction and then the next, the only reprieve coming when he had to cut the cake with Margaery and have the first dance.

 After that, he was out again among the crowd, Margaery coming in and out of their conversations, her arm always linked with his as they greeted the guests and accepted the compliments. She was currently dancing with her elder brother Garlan, the two making a handsome pair as they twirled and laughed; gaiety and frivolity the main course of the evening.

  It was a happy occasion…

 Or so he tried to make himself believe as he stood among a group of men, cigar smoke choking him and making him ache for the outside where he could breathe for a moment—just stop and rest and close his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to stop all morning, but once the ceremony was done and it was official, he couldn’t run anymore; he couldn’t back down. And so he let himself relax as much as he could.

 But the smoke was _getting_ to him.

 “I think we should all have another glass of champagne,” he joked, disguising the fact that he had not been paying attention to any of the conversation, and was instead obsessing over the innocent little band across his finger.

 “Here here!” one of the men said, and Renly believed he looked suspiciously like a Targaryen—an old family who was losing influence in the city. Losing it fast.

 That remark, however, seemed to appease everyone, and they once again lapsed into heady political conversation as Renly excused himself with a quick nod and a small smile. Pushing through the throng of people, he prayed to the Father the Son and the Holy Spirit no one would pull him aside to chat as he neared the double doors to the large balcony overlooking the rose garden.

 His haven.

 As he neared the exit, he caught the eye of Tyrion Lannister. Sitting at a table near the back, he was fiddling with the stem of a champagne glass, no doubt one of many he had already had the pleasure of holding throughout the course of the evening. He did not appear outwardly drunk, but Renly knew the man well enough to know he had probably tossed back more than a few, having spent every Baratheon and Lannister Christmas party watching the man consume enough alcohol to take down a horse. Occasionally Renly joined Tyrion, the two drinking the night away as squabbling and bitterness joined duck and potatoes as the main course for the evening. Despite what he had been told, Renly sort of liked the man.

 That did not mean he wanted to speak to him, however, and attempted to break their gaze, believing that he would be approached if he kept it for too long. Tyrion’s green and black eyes held unspoken understanding, and he looked away quickly before they flicked over his shoulder. Hurrying past, he saw Tyrion slip off of his seat out of the corner of his eye, and heard him begin speaking loudly to someone, catching brief snippets of conversation that sounded suspiciously like Tyrion was saving him by distracting someone who was trying to approach him.

 Luck was on his side thanks to Tyrion, and he thanked God and the Lannister for small blessings as he opened the door and slipped through before shutting it quickly. Taking a deep, fresh breathe of air into his lungs, he held it as he walked across the stone balcony, releasing it as he rested against the railing that looked out at a hedge maze. The sound of the party could be heard faintly through the walls, a fast song causing people to speak louder overtop the brass and drums. Running a hand over his face, he took another steadying breath, finding it a little easier to cope when there was no one watching him.

 He had done it. He had gotten married. He hadn’t run away, Margaery hadn’t figured it out, the Tyrells still wanted his influence despite his brother’s death… It had all turned out well. He was protected, or so he deluded himself into believing, and he couldn’t be hurt. Loras couldn’t be hurt. He was safe… he had Margaery now and they would do good together; they would be good together. He would love her like a sister and a friend, and she would love him like a husband… She would never know and Renly would never tell her while Loras… Loras had promised he would stay quiet, his own conscious wrestling with itself for months and months before he realized he was a selfish bugger like everyone else, and that he couldn’t give Renly up. Not even when he was married to his sister.

 Everything was going to be okay.

 The sound from inside carried through the quiet night air louder for a moment, and Renly straightened , glancing over his shoulder to see Loras stepping through the door, shutting it as soon as he could. Turning around, he smiled at Renly and sauntered over, hands stuffed in a well fitted suit—black bowtie pressed against his neck, a white handkerchief peeking out from his breast pocket, black suit fitting him perfectly while slicked back hair shone even under the moonlight.

 He looked almost as beautiful as his sister did walking down the aisle. No matter how gay he was, he couldn’t help but be taken away by how gorgeous Margaery looked on her wedding day. He owed her that much, at least, to find her the most radiant person in the room.

 “How are you holding up?” Loras asked, going to rest his back against the railing beside Renly. Taking a thin silver case from his suit pocket, he pulled out a cigarette and light it, smoke curling up but not touching Renly’s senses as it trailed away from him.

 “I’m… alright,” he said, their sides almost touching as they stood under the clear night sky. Stuffing his hands in his pockets to stop himself from touching his lover, he stared up at the stars.

 “Good… I was worried about you last night.” Loras had reason for that. Renly had spent the entire night pacing about, shoulders hunched and hands repeatedly running through his hair, mussing it up and giving him a decidedly crazed disheveled appearance. Renly had been out the night before with a large group of friends, drinking and playing poker as they celebrated his last few nights of freedom. Renly had enjoyed it and let the evening take his mind away from what he was doing—the lie he was going to have to live for the rest of his fucked up life.

 But the night before he had no music or drink, he had no cards or poker chips. Garlan and Loras had stopped by his apartment—boxes packed up in preparation for moving into his new home—and sat on his couch as he paced around, attempting to convince them he was alright. Loras knew the real reasons for his worries, while Garlan made light of it and simply laughed.

 But when Garlan left, Renly soon found himself on the floor with Loras, his lover’s weight heavy and sure against his back as they fucked, he knees pressed into the carpet and his legs spread as he was pushed  and stretched—guided into a world where thought did not matter and all that was important was pleasure. Loras took over for the night and Renly was grateful for the touch of his lips against his neck, the grasp of his palms against his waist and the increasing pressure in his groin, Loras’ tight little gasps sending nerves through his body as he was fucked and made to forget.

 But as soon as the rush had left and Loras was cleaning up in the bathroom, Renly began to panic again, this time even more worried and fretful when he realized he would be having a wedding night with Margaery. No longer would chastity be an excuse…

 “I was worried about myself, too,” he admitted, wrinkling his nose as Loras turned slightly and blew some smoke playfully into his face.

 “Let me see your hand,” he said, holding his hand out. Doing as he requested, Renly let Loras inspect the ring on his finger, lips holding the smoke in his mouth, expression unreadable. “How does it feel?”

 “It feels heavy. Slightly daunting and oppressive… feels as if it should have come from you.”

 Loras’ eyes flicked up at that moment, and they locked. A second passed before Loras looked back down at the band, this time emotions clear across his face. Melancholy would be the only way to describe it. “I wish it was…” he whispered before dropping Renly’s hand and pulling the cigarette from his lips. Stuffing it against the stone railing, he puffed the last of the smoke out before rested against the railing again.

 Nothing was said for a time, both of them staring up at the sky, hands stuffed in their pockets, deep in thought and wishing to touch but knowing it was too dangerous. Besides, this was Margaery’s night—not theirs.

 “Did you know the constellation Aquarius had a different name to the Greeks and Romans?” Renly asked after a time, his hand rising to point at the constellation. His nanny had taught him some of the great stories of the skies, showing him how to find the Big Dipper, Orion and others as they lay in the grass outside the old Baratheon Estate that had become Lannister territory.

 “No, I didn’t… What was it called then?”

 “They called it Ganymede after a young Trojan boy. The myth goes that Zeus, who was the king of the gods, saw Ganymede and fell in love with him, so he swooped down in the form of an eagle, snatched Ganymede up, and took him up to Mount Olympus where the boy became his lover and his cupbearer. As a reward later on for being so faithful, Zeus placed him in the stars and made him immortal. Thus the constellation was born.” Renly liked the story—it had brought him comfort when he was younger. His nanny always played upon the abduction and possible rape facet of the story when she told him, but Renly didn’t take that from the story. What he took was that there were others like him out there, even if they were in the past.

 Glancing over at Loras, he smiled when he saw a small, hopeful little smirk break across his full lips, eyes still staring up at the stars. “I guess not everyone hates us as much as you think they do,” he said, dropping his head down to look over at Renly. Nothing was said, the two of them just basking in the glow of realizing they weren’t alone; at least they had each other like Ganymede had Zeus.

 “I guess they don’t,” he replied, moving in to apply a sweet, quick kiss on his lips.

 “So who told you this story, anyways?” Loras asked, acting as if the kiss hadn’t happened at all. The small blush on his cheeks betrayed him, but Renly loved it.

 “My nanny told me when I was little. Apparently the Greeks had an awful lot of love for male relations,” he said, tapping his foot as the music in the ballroom carried through a beat he was familiar with and liked. “I’m not too surprised, however. Have you seen some of their statues in museums?”

 Shrugging, Loras tapped his elbow against Renly’s. “I usually don’t stare at marble statue’s penis’, but if that is what makes you happy…” The sly grin that spread across his features made Renly punch him playfully on the arm, laughter breaking out.

 “Have you seen the size of them? They’re ridiculously small—if I was attracted to that then I wonder what that would say about the size of your dick.” This time Loras punched him, a little harder than Renly’s but still playful. Shoving him gently, Loras shoved back, and soon they were wrestling each other, laughing as they made quick remarks to each other about penis’ , the jokes eventually devolving (or perhaps evolving) into work related quips and other such nonsense. It did not stop until a voice broke through, the door to the balcony being opened as a swell of sound hit them.

 “There you two are!” Margaery called, a few of her lady friends tittering behind her as she walked out. Immediately pulling away after almost having his partner in a head-lock, Renly and Loras straightened themselves out as Margaery shook her head and rolled her eyes, a smile on her lips. “I’ve been looking for both of you! I want a dance with Fay and then a dance with my husband,” she said, grabbing both their hands and leading them back into the party.

 Following, Renly could hear Loras let out a huge groan, the two stumbling after Margaery. “I hate that you two both call me Fay,” he complained, making Margaery laugh, her hand leaving Renly’s arm so she could turn around and pat Loras on the cheek.

 “But it’s so fitting! You do have an amazing shriek,” she cooed, kissing his cheek and leaving a red lipstick print on it. Rubbing at it furiously, Margaery directed her attention to Renly and kissed him quickly on the lips. “I’ll be right back after I dance with Fay—don’t leave because you’re the best dance partner I’ve had all evening.” Winking, she bopped him on the nose gently before she and Loras pressed through the throng and back on to the dance-floor, Loras still complaining.

 He couldn’t help the large grin that spread across his lips, still tingling from the kiss. Grabbing a glass of champagne from one of the waiters who walked by, he sipped the bubbly liquid and stood off to the side, no one bothering him as he admired his lover and his wife. They were both smiling, wavy hair shimmering under the lights of the chandelier, their limbs long and relaxed as they twirled about, the lace skirt of Margaery’s beautiful wedding dress not an issue for the pair. Margaery’s hair had been placed up in a delicate bun, little rose buds nestled in between the curls and waves, while diamond earrings and a matching necklace brought shine and glitter to her face, a youthful glow already present, making her impossibly radiant.

 She and Loras looked almost like twins, both young and fresh and gorgeous, not a care in the world. 

 Taking a deep breath, the smoke and the perfumes did not bother Renly like they had before, and he relaxed in the knowledge that he was surrounded by loved ones. A new life and a new beginning. 


	10. Fools for Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this
> 
> Warning: Mentions of malexmale sex 
> 
> Authors Note: A murder mystery! And more drama. Fun times, no?

 The streets were quiet, save for the sound of the click and flash of a camera, followed by the scuffle of feet across pavement and gravel. A few honks were heard down the street from passing cars and disgruntled drivers, but relative silence clung to the scene like a desperate lover.

 Staring down at the body of a young woman, Renly listened to the flash of the camera off down the alleyway, waiting for the coroner to give them any information. Loras was kneeling beside him, a glove on one hand as he gently moved the girl’s head to the side, rigor mortis making it difficult.

 “How long does it take to write up a report?” Renly asked aloud, gaze flicking up to watch the coroner in his car, pen scribbling away on a clipboard. The man was new, and Renly already disliked him. He enjoyed the older coroner—Pycell. Sure, he was a bumbling idiot most of the time, but when you got him talking about bodies he knew exactly what he was discussing. The man could guess the time of death and the cause of death most of the time just by looking at the person.

 But then he got old and retired, leaving his new apprentice to fill in. This new apprentice wouldn’t even talk to Loras and Renly until he had finished his first report, and that first report was taking longer than any of them wanted.

 “A fucking century,” Loras mumbled as he stood up. “I’m guessing the hit to the back of the head was what killed her.”

 “Not the torture?” Renly asked, eyes flicking down to the broken and skinned fingers before up to the bruised neck, down her bare torso where broken ribs and lacerations from something mangled it, and down to her legs where… a sexual assault was conducted. No doubt about that. It was a grim scene, but both of the detectives knew to keep their emotions out at the moment. There was time for anger after the case was solved.

 “Nah, she bled out from the head—if she was dead it would have congealed…” Loras began to explain, but he slowly trailed off when Renly gave him a look. “Sorry, sometimes I forget you actually know what you’re doing.”

 Renly wanted to wipe that smirk off of his face, and was going to retaliate when the coroner opened his car door and finally approached them.

“Detective Baratheon, Detective Tyrell,” he began, formal and uptight, of course.

 “So, what do we have?” Renly asked, nodding his greeting.

 “Twenty-three year old Lilian Sanders—or at least, that’s what her library card says. She was found behind the alley by one of the workers at the restaurant right over here when they were throwing away some trash around one in the morning. She was most likely alive when she was dragged here and was killed soon after, the blood pooling on the ground indicating as such. She took a heavy blow to the back of the head, which leads us to the assumption this is the cause of death—it was probably done with a crowbar or something thin but metal. I’m guessing she died around midnight, but I’ll know a better time when I get her back to the morgue.”

 “Did you find any fluids on her?” Loras asked.

 “No, none so far. I’ll do a full search back at the lab but from the preliminary I wasn’t able to find any semen or spit. There are tire tracks down the alleyway, a bit of mud on them from the entry way where there is a pool. Other than that, all that was found was her purse that was dumped a little way down the lane, along with her ripped shirt and brassiere.”

 “Thanks,” Renly mumbled, crouching down to inspect the body. It was a gruesome, indecent way to die, and Renly wondered why no one had heard the commotion. Granted, it didn’t look like she put up much of a fight. She was already beaten bloody, so chances were she was unconscious when the death actually happened.

 He hoped for her sake that this was the case.

 “This is one sick fuck,” Loras mumbled, pulling out a pad of paper and scribbling some notes down. “Rape is always horrible, but this? This just crosses so many other lines.”

 “I’ve seen this before,” Renly mumbled, staring at her ring finger on her left hand. They were so mangled it was impossible to tell if she had been wearing a wedding band or not. “I mean, a few brutal rapes like this back when I first started in homicide.” Standing up, he walked around the body, trying to find any clues.

 “Did you ever catch the guy?” Loras asked, staring at a bruise on her neck that came from the grip of large hands.

 “No, we didn’t.”

 That made them both pause, eyes flicking up to look at each other. “Copy cat?”

 “How much information did the press get?”

 “Not this much,” Renly said, straightening up. “I’ll need to go through the old case files and compare the two, but this is feeling eerily similar.”

XX

“What are those?”

 Looking up from his files, Renly smiled up at Margaery, pen stilling in his fingers. “Old case files,” he explained as she sat across from him at the kitchen table.

 “Does this have to do with the call late last night for you to go to the station?” she asked, obviously resisting the urge to reach out and read through one of the files.

 “Yeah, a girl was found around midnight last night. The way she dies reminded me of a case I worked on back when I first became a detective—I’m refreshing my memory.”

 “How long were you at the station for?” she asked. When he received the call around a quarter after midnight, Margaery had gone straight back to bed, face stuffed into her pillow in an completely unladylike fashion. When she woke, Renly still wasn’t home.

“Until about five in the afternoon—came home for dinner,” he explained, patting his stomach in appreciation of the fact that Margaery had cooked them a nice supper, just in time for him to walk through the door. Eight months into their marriage and Margaery was still getting used to the odd hours detectives had. The first time he left at two in the morning she had stayed up, worrying most of the night until he found her asleep on the couch around five in the morning. He told her not to worry and that it was just regular police business, but she still could not get used to her husband leaving at all hours of the day, not knowing when he’d return.

 He hated causing her stress, especially with exams coming up for her law degree, but he could see no way around it. He had even cut down on the amount of time he would sneak over to Loras’ for some sexual liaisons, realizing he was already putting Margaery through enough.

 Of course that left Loras a little frustrated, too. He knew the reasons Renly did not visit as often, and was more than willing to give up his time if it meant Margaery would be happy (a top priority for both of them), but whenever they did have time along Loras would be more eager and passionate than he’d ever been, his hands and mouth all over Renly as they pushed and strained against each other on his bed, in the bathroom, even on the kitchen table once.

 Renly was feeling strained, but he hid it. He chose this, and he was going to live with it.

 “Did you want a snack?” she asked, sitting back in her chair as if to physically distance herself from the temptation of opening the files. She was in law school for a reason. “I need a break from my studying and I thought we could share a peanut butter sandwich.”

 “Are you sure?” he asked, still finding the concept of having someone cook and clean for him a little strange. He had become accustomed to living alone after he moved out of Robert’s place when he was eighteen.

 “Of course I’m sure, silly!” Standing up, she moved over to kiss him on his temple before going to prepare the snack.

 Scanning a report, he read through the coroners notes (good old Pycell—always thorough and sometimes long winded) for the second girl. The wounds were less extensive than on Lillian, but this was just when the man was getting started. It was common for a person to start their deranged killings slowly—a grope on a train, then some sexual harassment—perhaps stalking—before rape. Then, after rape it grew to killing, and then mutilation. The fourth woman they had found from the murderer was even more extreme than the second victim, and this one matched Lillian more than the others.

 It was also the last one.

 “We should invite Loras over for dinner this weekend,” Margaery said as she popped open a jar of jam. “I haven’t seen him in a week—you see my own brother more than I do!”

 “Did you want me to invite him next time I see him?” he asked, rubbing his eyes as he sat back in his chair.

 “Would you? Invite him Saturday, and I’ll invite someone special.”

 “Someone… special?” Margaery did not say anything, and Renly grew increasingly worried. “Marg… What are you planning?”

 “Nothing,” she said innocently, turning around with half a sandwich on a plate. Placing it down in front of him, she smiled and retrieved her own plate before sitting across from him.

 “Are you trying to set him up?” he asked, eyes narrowing as she stood up again.

 “I forgot the milk,” she declared.

 For the rest of the night, Margaery conveniently forgot many things.

XX

It was matching up too much. It was eerie how similar the cases were. Renly had actually called up his old partner to discuss it with him, and the man drove in from his place outside the city so they could go over the details together once more. It felt nice to hear Cressens’ soft voice again, the tempo always calm no matter the situation. Sitting at a café together, they reminisced about the ‘good old days’ before they talked about the present.

 “So you’re married now, hey kid?” he asked, a bright smile over the rim of his coffee cup. There was green tea in it, though. Cressen never drank coffee.

 “Yes, that I am. Almost ten months now,” he said, wiggling his ringed finger. “Her name is Margaery.”

 “Margaery… that’s a nice name for a wife. Is she kind and good to you?”

 “Of course she is—she’s the best wife any man could ask for. She cooks, she cleans, she loves the movies as much as I do, and she’s got a wicked clever streak. She’s almost graduated from law school.”

 Cressen whistled slowly, sitting back with his tea clutched carefully between two weathered hands. “I never thought you’d ever get married, kid.”

 “And why is that?” he asked, sipping his coffee.

 Cressen did not reply for a time, however, his gaze down on the table as he pondered his response. Growing a little worried at his sudden silence, Renly lost his smile, but continued to feign being relaxed, attention on his old partner’s lined face. “It’s nothing,” he said after a time, smiling again back at Renly. “You were just a… different sort of lad.”

 Renly suddenly felt very exposed, and he casually placed his coffee cup back down on the white counter. “Is different just your way of calling me special?” he teased, trying to block the strange choice of words with a joke.

 “You were always special, too,” he added, chuckling to himself. “But it does not matter—you found a good girl to keep you happy and that’s all we can ask for. A good lady, a little bit of love and some good company.”

 “What are you two talking about?” A voice broke out behind him, and Renly looked over his shoulder to see Loras walking up, hat in hand as he sat down, nudging Renly over. 

 “We were waiting for you,” Renly explained. “Loras, this is my old partner Cressen. Cressen, this is my new partner, Loras.” The two men reached across the table to shake hands, Loras’ smooth, easy handshake contrasting with Cressen’s ‘farm hands’ handshake.

 “Renly tells me good things about you,” Cressen said, and Loras raised an eyebrow.

 “Really? I can’t say the same for him.”

 Cressen’s laughter made the ladies in the booth behind him jump, before they began to titter away along with him. “He’s got a sense of humour just like you! I can see you driving the station crazy with your insincerity,” he chuckled.

 Renly wanted to reach out and hit Loras or kiss him or do both, but instead he refrained and simply sent Loras a side-eyed look as he casually sipped his coffee. “How about we discuss the case before Loras becomes too smug on us, huh?”

 After the meeting and ideas were exchanged, they left the café with new found information and determination, a belief that the killer was working again firm in their minds. When it came time to go their separate ways, Cressen pulled Renly off to the side and repeated what he had told him on one of their first cases together: “Don’t get too attached, Renly.”

XX

“I think he knows,” Renly mumbled against Loras’ chest. A thumb rubbed small circles on his bicep over the bullet scar, and Renly could hear the inhale and slow exhale of smoke, his own head lifting and rising with Loras’ breathing.

 “Who knows what?”

 “Cressen knows my marriage is not really one of love… not like typical marriages, anyways. I think he knows I more often than not fall in love with men.”

 The thumb caress stopped, and Loras shifted slightly, warm thighs pressing against Renly’s hips a moment before one leg wrapped around his own. Renly knew Loras was beginning to ache under him, but couldn’t be bothered to move from his very comfortable resting place between his lover’s legs. Despite being so lithe, Loras made a good mattress. “Why do you say that?” he asked, taking another drag.

 “He just… made some comments and looked at me a specific way.”

 “What sort of comments?”

 “Said I was different.”

 “He wasn’t wrong about that.” Lifting his head, Renly glared at Loras who continued to lie on the bed, a smug expression on his face. “What?”

 “It’s an ‘Insult Renly’ day today, it seems,” he mumbled, kissing Loras despite the treatment he’d been receiving. Accepting the kiss, Loras gently bit his bottom lip before moving to snuff his smoke out. “You sort of deserve it.”

 “Why do I deserve it?”

 “You didn’t stop Margaery from inviting the lovely but incredibly oblivious Sansa Stark over for dinner a few weeks ago.”

 Groaning, Renly rolled off of Loras and slid his hands down his face, pulling his lips downward before dropping his hands down on the bed. “You’re still mad at me for that? It’s been a month.”

 “Yes, because it brings me joy to see you squirm.”

 “You’re a horrible, horrible man.”

 Laughing, Loras sat up and stretched forward, fingers reaching his toes as his back cracked. Groaning, he lay back down, the two squished on the double bed. “She still sometimes calls me—I mean Sansa does. I keep trying to let her down gently but she’s just so… sweet that I can’t be obvious enough for her. Maybe I should just tell her I fuck men.”

 “And where would that get you? She’s one of Margaery’s friends, Loras—she’ll gossip.”

 “So?”

 Shoulders pressed together, legs tangled and gazes staring up at the ceiling, Renly felt as if it was ten years ago and he was lying on some other man’s bed, staring up at his ceiling telling him he didn’t give a fuck who knew that he screwed men. The thrill of that idea wasn’t as appealing in the morning when he was once again outside, dressed like everyone else and acting like everyone else because deep down inside, he did care. He cared a whole fucking lot. “So… if anyone found out—“

 “So what if someone finds out? Renly, you seem to have this notion that everyone out there is going to shoot you in the head because of your sexuality, but news flash—most don’t even give shit,” Loras said, sitting up slightly to stare down at Renly. “We live in New York, we’re not getting in anyone’s way, and I highly doubt anyone is going to want to harm an NYPD officer.”

 Snorting, Renly stared up at Loras. “Yeah, and how long do you think you’re going to be in the NYPD after you tell everyone? How long will the police want you as a member when they think you’re going to defile them anytime they’re caught alone with you? And how long do you think this ‘no one gives a shit’ notion you have last when you’re the only one who will come out and does come out? Strength in numbers is the key, Loras, and we don’t have a lot of numbers.”

 “We would if you weren’t all such cowards,” Loras ground out before he was moving away and off of the bed, his temper getting the best of him. Sitting up, Renly reached across and quickly grabbed his arm, tugging him back down on to the bed. Going with the motion, Loras let himself fall back down, face sullen as Renly moved to sit behind him, a kiss being applied to the back of his neck. “I’m sick of this…”

 “Of what?” Renly asked, resting his chin on Loras’ shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist.

 “Of having to hide… of not being able to kiss you under the sun or touch you or be with you. Instead we have to have a quick fuck here and there before you go back to your wife and my sister for the night, where you’ll have sex with her and touch her like you touch me.”

 “I don’t sleep with her that often,” Renly mumbled, knowing it was a weak statement. What comfort could that possibly bring? He knew this affair was wearing on Loras; it was wearing on him, too. But they refused to stop it. Love made people act like fools, and Loras and Renly were terribly foolish men.

 “I wish I could tell everyone I love you… I wish I could have taken you home to meet my family as my lover and my partner, not just my partner… I wish they could look at you as mine and not Margaery’s.” Loras sounded younger than he had for some time, bottom lip pouting outward and head hung as his hands lay overtop Renly’s arms. “I’m so jealous of Margaery sometimes it hurts,” he continued, Renly listening as he explained his feelings. It was all he could do. “She gets to see you every day and touch you every day. She gets to go to bed beside you and wake up beside you, eat breakfast and dinner with you and do everything that I want to do. I want to be able to do that with you; like we did back before you married. When you had the time to stay at my place or I’d stay at yours and all we had was work and even then we did that together, too.

 “I just… I just want us to be together without all of this drama and fear. Without people telling us we can’t because it’s not moral or it’s a sin or we’re perverted. I just want to feel your lips against mine while the sun shines down and the people walk past without caring. I want our love to be nothing shocking or new… I just want us to be together.”

 The sigh he let out at the end rattled through his entire body. The sound made Renly’s heart clench and his grip tighten as it carried through the air. He hated this—he hated seeing Loras so conflicted and sad. He was such a kind, loving man and yet he was held back from the simple pleasures in life because Renly was a coward and society was cruel. Renly wished he could go back to when he did not care either; to a time where it didn’t matter if he was open about his sexuality or not, because nothing depended on it. But he had built such a lie and drawn so many people into it he could not just break free. It was impossible now, or so it seemed. He had created so many fabrications about his life to the point that he was married and trying to have a kid. It was painful what he had done to both himself and to Loras.

“I’m sorry, love,” Renly whispered, kissing the side of his neck as he rubbed his flat stomach gently.

 “I know.” Turning around in Renly’s arms, Loras crawled back on to the bed, pushing Renly down as he moved to kiss him, long legs going to straddle his waist.

 Kissing him back, Renly tangled his fingers in Loras’ hair, deepening it with the tilt of his head. Palms slid up his sides, and the flicker of arousal stirred him as Loras’ groin rubbed again his own. The two needed this distraction; the reprieve from troubling thoughts that could only be achieved by getting lost in the person you loved. Renly did not care that he had to be home in half an hour or that he’d come home smelling like sex. All that mattered right now was Loras, firm and warm and pliable against him as they rocked together and kissed.

  The sound of the phone broke the momentary peace, the two freezing as the ringing barreled around the previously silent apartment. Growling, Loras kissed Renly harsh on the lips before he was up and off, hurrying out of the bedroom, all naked limbs and smooth muscle. Watching him go (or rather his ass), Renly relaxed on the bed.

Soon Loras was back in the room, grabbing his shirt up off the floor as he came in. “Get dressed,” he said, and Renly raised a brow as he slowly sat up. Putting on his shirt, Loras gave him a ‘now’ look before doing his buttons up. “They found another girl.”


	11. Bundles of Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this
> 
> Warning: Murder, Gore
> 
> Authors Note: Short chapter, but I make up for it in the last few.

 It was much the same. The body was this time found in a park, tire tracks from an old truck of some kind found leading away from the body itself. Clothes torn, head bashed in, cuts and abrasions littering the once beautiful young woman.

 The flash of the camera light up her face further while lights shone on her from different angles.

 “Shit like this makes me sick,” the crime scene photographer mumbled between his toothpick. “Disgusting is what it is.” Another photograph was taken.

 “It is distressing,” Renly agreed, standing next to the coroner as he scribbled on that damn clipboard, oblivious to the conversations as he wrote down his data. Loras was off to the side, inspecting the purse that was also left behind—as if the man wanted them to know who they were.

 “Nineteen years old, goes by the name of Mary Wilshire,” the coroner began out of nowhere, startling Renly. “The cuts and bruising seems all to be pre mortem while a blow to the back of her head was what killed her. I’d say she’s been dead for three hours before the young couple found her.”

 Yes, the infamous young couple. Renly thought it best if couples just stay indoors and not go wandering around parks late at night; dead bodies just seemed to love them. “Anything different about her?”

 “Now that you mention it—yes,” he said, pointing to her neck. “Instead of a rope markings around her neck there are hand prints—unfortunately the man was wearing gloves so there are no prints. Also, some of the skin was ripped from her feet.”

 Frowning, he crouched down and inspected her neck, seeing the dark, purple imprint of hands around her long neck. A cross necklace rested against her breast in the blood, and Renly had a moment in which he wondered if God really did exist. “He’s getting more brutal, if that’s at all possible. He probably wanted to feel the struggle.”

 “I wouldn’t know, I just read the dead body, not the process,” the coroner said before walking off, face pressed into the clipboard once more.

 “Dick,” Renly mumbled, going to look at her hand. No rings, either, and the skin was also stripped like with the previous girl.

 “What did the coroner say?” Loras asked, his form casting a shadow as he blocked one of the large, bright police lights.

 “Looks like he’s started strangling his victims with his hands to make them pass out, rather than using a rope.”

 “He wants to feel them struggle,” Loras mumbled, and Renly couldn’t help but smirk. They did work well together.

 “Did you find anything in her belongings?” he asked, standing up and indicating the coroner could cover her body up. Give her a little bit of decency.

 “Usual fair—a wallet with some money in it, a library card, a tube of lipstick and a compact mirror, a powder puff—wait.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Renly watched Loras’ eyebrows furrow, gaze staring down at the ground. “Didn’t the other victim have a library card on her?”

 “Yeah… she did. A lot of people do, though.”

 “Yes, but that was the only form of identification left on both of them—and weren’t the girls previously killed also left with their library cards?”

 “The last two were—the first two were left with all of their belongings; ID, money, one had a worker’s punch-in sheet… but the last two only had their library cards… Are there any libraries nearby?”

 It was a lead, at least.

XX

Mary Wilshire was a good student and a loving daughter. She never harmed anyone and always tried her best. She was applying to go to college and become a secretary, but her passion lay in fashion. She worked part-time as a small little store down the street from a library, and often stopped at the library on her way home to check out mystery stories.

 “Have you seen this girl in here often?” Renly asked, flashing a picture of Mary to a woman at the front desk of the library. She glared at him, reprimanded him for being loud, before inspecting the photo that had been given to them by her family.

 “Yes, yes I remember her,” she said, nodding as she pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Came in about once a week and always got out mystery books.”

 “Was she in last night?”

 “… Yes, I believe she was. She came in just before we closed to return a few books. She didn’t get any new ones out, however.”

 “Was she acting differently that night?” Loras asked, and the woman sent them a highbrow look.

 “Do you mind telling me what this is all about?” she asked, lips pursed as she stared down the two detectives. Renly wondered if she wore that expression even when getting fucked.

 “She was found dead last night,” Renly explained, and watched as she lost her smug look and instead paled slightly.

 “O-Oh… Oh, I’m… That’s just terrible,” she said, hand pressed against her chest. “I mean, she seemed like such a sweet girl—why would anyone do such a thing?”

 “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Loras explained, leaning forward slightly on the desk. “Are you alright to answer some more questions—we don’t want to push you too much. Maybe you should get a glass of water and sit in the back?”

 The woman seemed to calm down after that, and Renly couldn’t help but roll his eyes as Loras put on his ‘suave lady-killer’ shtick.  It worked most of the time, though… “No, I’ll be fine. She did not seem out of the ordinary yesterday, though. She said hello to one of the girls shelving and dropped the books off with a smile. She said she was studying for some practice exam and could not afford distraction and that was why she wasn’t getting any more books out…”

 “Were there any suspicious men walking around in the library? Anyone who seemed different or a little strange? Did anyone follower her out?” Renly asked, and she shook her head.

 “I don’t know—I don’t think so. I wasn’t really paying much attention but I think I would have remembered any strange men skulking about.”

 “Thank you, ma’am, you’ve been a great help,” Renly said, and he tipped his hat to her. “My partner here will just get your information so we can file you in the report.” Nodding to Loras, he left the library, mulling over what she had said. Lillian’s body was not found near the library, but her family said she frequented another half way across the downtown center on occasion. Lillian was studying to become a nurse and was often in the library until closing, studying and looking through the large medical journals.

 The story from the lady behind the counter at that library was much the same—she came in, she studied and left at night. No one suspicious or strange around her, and they did not see her speak with any male while she was there.

 “Maybe he waits outside near one of the alleyways to snatch them up?” Loras suggested as they sat in their office, reports open around them while coffee steam and smoke hung like a cloud above their heads.

 “Yeah, but why libraries? I mean, what sort of man would attack women from libraries? Bars are better places to snatch women unaware.”

 “They’re also busier, though. People mill about on the street in front, some even wander down the alleyways to play dice or something. There is just too much traffic.”

 “But libraries?” Shaking his head, Renly rubbed his eyes and leaned forward on to the desk. “We should see how dark the alleyways get, tonight—see if there are enough shadows to hide in and grab a girl from,” he mumbled from his arms as he pressed his face against them.

XX

There was an increase in police patrol around the libraries in the downtown core, everyone agreeing it was best err on the side of caution, especially when it seemed like the murderer was attacking his victims nearby or even behind the buildings themselves. They still hadn’t figured out why he was attacking women as they left the library, but then again, the mind of a serial rapist and killer was never one that made much sense in the first place.

 Loras and Renly had even dragged Sam and Jon into the case, and the four of interviewing and patrolling and pouring over case notes until they almost collapsed from exhaustion. The media had latched on to the case, using it as an example of the depletion in values from the general population, and that the city needed to clean itself up.

 The NYPD was also going through major changes, the position of Sergeant still not filled and instead being left open as men applied and tried to bolster their applications with support from others. Stannis was still in the running, but Renly had lost faith that the man would make it. He had wanted to run himself, but realized the pressure would have been too much at the time—it just wouldn’t have worked. He’d have died like his brother—a stupid death—before he even had a chance to set foot in the office. A heart attack or a brain aneurism caused by stress.

 All in all, it was a stressful time for everyone; eyes bloodshot and nerves frayed from too much coffee and not enough sleep.

 “How was your day?” Margaery asked, her voice floating above as Renly lay on the couch, one arm dangling off. Cracking an eye open he watched her form swim into his vision, a worried smile on her pretty features. She was wringing her hands together, and looked both nervous and excited. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and scooted over so she could sit beside him.

 “It was much of the same,” he admitted, her body curling up next to his. Wrapping an arm loosely around her shoulders, he sent her a weary smile. “How was your day?”

 “Oh, it was alright. I went to the grocery store and restocked the fridge, had lunch with Elinor and then went to see the doctor.”

 “The doctor? Why did you go to the doctor?” he asked, suddenly worried. Sitting up a little further, he watched as she seemed to wrestle with her emotions, excitement and trepidation worrying away at her before she spoke very carefully.

“Well, you see… I was feeling a little sick lately, so I thought I should see the doctor. You know how I was throwing up the other day, right? A-Anyways… Well, I went and they checked on me and… well… I’m pregnant.”

 It was strange, Renly mused, as he sat on the couch beside his wife, that he had no idea how to react. Emotions were an easy thing for Renly to grasp—sometimes too easy. He’d anger easily and laugh easily, when he was happy you’d know it and when he was upset you would definitely know it. Emotions were his forte—he let them come, seizing hold of them and use them to help him along.

 But here he was, unable to feel anything as he stared at her, mouth open and eyes wide as she smiled, and then faltered, and let out a nervous giggle before she broke the spell and asked him to say something.

 “I-I’m sorry,” he began, taking her hand in his own. “I just, I mean… I mean… I don’t know what I mean. But you’re actually pregnant?”

 “Yes,” she said, tears in her eyes as she continued to smile, her hand squeezing his own. “A-Are you happy about this?”

 And there it was. The emotion he’d been looking for. Happy…

 He may be gay and he may have never wanted the monotony of a married life, but this… this was good news. The thought that he was going to have a child—a small little precious baby that he helped make—made him shake and smile and laugh as Margaery hugged him, her own laugher mixing with her tears of joy. He was actually going to help bring something into this world—something good and something worthwhile. A small little being that would cast away the shadows in his life—in the world. A child… a new beginning… the thought of that made him feel inexplicably happy.

 He was going to be a _Dad_.


	12. A Love Like This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this
> 
> Warning: MalexMale sex
> 
> Authors Note: One more chapter, and then the Epilogue!

“How has married life been treating you, Renly?”

 Petyr’s arrogant voice broke through the silence of his office, and Renly looked up to see the Vice detective leaning against the doorframe, a smug smile accompanying the question. “It’s been treating me well—I know this is a foreign concept to you, but you should try and find yourself a woman you don’t have to pay. Think about settling down; people are starting to talk.”

 Petyr did not lose the smirk, but he was looking a little peeved. That was good enough for Renly. “I work with prostitutes; I know well enough not to touch them,” he replied, moving into the room to sit down across from Renly. He was sitting in Loras’ seat.

 Loras wouldn’t like that.

 “What are these rumours you speak of?” Petry continued, pressing his fingers together as he stared at Renly from under his broad brimmed fedora. Renly was going to tell him broad brim fedoras were out and smaller brims were in, but decided to just answer his question.

 “Well, you’re in your thirties, you’re unmarried, and you have an awful lot of interest in Mr. Stark’s wife…” Trailing off, he let the sentiment hang in the air.

 “Ah, and here I thought you were going to say I was like you and your partner. While I do enjoy your banter, Renly, I would not like to be sorted into a deck with you in it. Although I do admire the bond you two have managed to create with one another—it’s so nice to see partner’s becoming so… _attached_.”

 That made Renly lose his smile, and his eyes narrowed as Petyr broke out into his typical Cheshire cat grin. “What do you mean?”

 “Oh, don’t play the ignorant act,” Petry mumbled, standing up as he got ready to leave. “I’ll have you know I figured it out before your brother did—Stannis, I mean. Although I think Robert knew, too. I wonder if your child will figure it out before your wife does.”

 Leaving then, Renly watched his form go back into the flow of the precinct, a swagger in his step. Clenching his jaw, he moved it back and forth and realized he was grinding his teeth like Stannis. Stopping immediately, he took a few steadying breaths.

 So what if Baelish knew—he wasn’t the type of man to tell anyone. There was nothing in it for him. Besides, he preferred to make people squirm, if this was common knowledge than he’d have nothing to make him shift and grind his teeth. The remark did not ease his nerves, however.

 He was tense and stressed, the bags under his eyes becoming more and more noticeable, his attention span becoming less than impressive, and his patience was worn thin. Another woman was killed only three days ago after a seven month lull in activity. They thought they had scared him off; they thought that they were in the clear and the man would stop and there would be no more victims.

 They had all been getting ready to congratulate themselves that. Although they had not caught him, at least they had stopped another girl from being murdered. But as soon as those ideas popped into their heads—as soon as hope once again peaked through the dull, grey clouds—he struck again. This time it was more brutal and horrific than the last. She was left on the side of a road, head smashed in and body beaten brutally. She had been raped multiple times, and it was suspected that she had been tortured for a day or two before killed.

 She was a student from Los Angeles, no one really knew her very well and she was not reported missing until one of the women in her dorm noticed she had not been in or out of her room. By the time they noticed she was gone, she was dead. Raped and beaten and tortured until the sweet release of death found her on the side of the road.

 It left them all shaken and sick, their pride shattered and their lives put on hold as they attempted to find the man and bring him to justice before another woman was dead because of their follies.

 Only Renly could not put his personal life on hold. Margaery was pregnant and expecting soon. It had been almost seven months since he had learned the good news and by that time Margaery was already two months in. She was in constant pain now, her back aching, her feet aching, her head hurting and her breasts swollen and tender. She had given up on doing much of the housework and Renly was left picking up the parts she could not do, such as cleaning and occasionally cooking hot meals when she craved specific things. He wanted to help her as best he could, but did not know what to do.

  She was radiant, however. Motherhood was good for her soul, always smiling and laughing, excited whenever the baby kicked. Despite being continually uncomfortable, she kept her good graces up and embraced her new role as a mother. Mr and Mrs Tyrell were over at their house continually, looking after their ‘baby’ and butting in whenever it was most inconvenient. Renly wanted peace and quiet when he got home after long days and nights of working cases filled with blood and terror, but he was given no reprieve as he stepped in and was immediately pulled off to the side, Mace wishing to speak to him about one thing or another.

 His time with Loras that was not spent hunched over files and corpses were also becoming less and less, the two of them never finding the time to be together like they really wanted to. It had been two weeks since they’d even had the time to embrace, arms wrapped around each other as they shared sweet kisses against a wall in the station at night when no one else was around. They were risking a lot by even hugging and kissing in such a public place, but they both needed it desperately.

 And Renly needed it _now_. The stress was overwhelming already, but Petyr’s comments were bringing back the extreme paranoia that everyone would _know_. And now he had even more to lose. He had a child on the way, a small little being he had helped make and that he loved so much without even having seen it. Feeling his child—their child—kick for the first time was like nothing else. He felt complete when he felt the movement, as if everything in the world was right.

 He couldn’t give that up; not now.

 Running a hand through his styled hair, he took some steadying breaths, vision tunneling as his hands shook and his chest squeezed down on him. Rocking a little, he felt a wave of nausea hit him, body reacting to the stress and the lack of sleep and being so god damn exhausted all the time. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward on his desk, hands still shaking making him even more worried. He felt as if his body was shutting down on him, mind working a mile a minute as he desperately tried to keep it together.

 He could do this, he could do this, he coulddothis, hecouddothishecoulddothishecould—

 “Renly?”

 Leaning over the side of his desk, Renly vomited into his trashcan.

 “Oh, shit!”

 Warm hands grasped his shoulders, and he looked up slightly to see Loras kneeling in front of him, expression that of worry. Reaching out, Loras cupped his chin before Renly was pulling away to collapse back in his chair. His stomach was still in knots, but he had stopped shaking.

 Sort of.

 “Are you alright?” Loras asked, going to close the door to the office before returning to kneel beside him. Feeling his forehead, Loras frowned. “You don’t have a fever.”

 “I think it’s food poisoning,” he lied. Or tried to. Loras was definitely not convinced.

 “Renly—we’ve been together for four years, I think I can tell when you’re lying.”

  “I… I can’t talk about it here,” he said, breathing relaxing as Loras stroked his cheek gently. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at his mouth, the taste of stomach bile and coffee sitting on his pallet. “I’ll come to your place tonight?”

 “Will you have time?” The hope in Loras’ voice was something he could not hide, boyish eagerness on his features for a moment, before he once again looked worried. “You should probably go home and sleep—“

 “No,” he said quickly. “No, no I need _you_ ,” he insisted.

 “Right, okay. Come over any time,” he said, hand still petting his cheek gently. Leaning into the touch, he smiled slightly, Loras’ touches and voice making him feel better already.

 “Thank you for letting me lean on you,” he mumbled, stomach sore and sitting high in his body as it tried to make him vomit once more. Quelling the feeling, he let Loras kiss his forehead before they broke apart, the smell of vomit seeping through the room.

  “I’ll get that, you relax until your shift is over—Jon and I have the paper work covered for this one,” Loras said as he reached down to grab the trash.

 “You’re my angel, Fay,” Renly muttered, a sly smile on his lips as Loras sent him a glare for the Fay comment.

XX

He had called Margaery saying he had some more paperwork to do and would be home later in the evening. She understood and said her mother was over for the evening anyways (typically) and they would amuse themselves while he was busy with work. As soon as the call was done he hurried over to Loras’, hands drumming on the steering wheel the entire time, unable to wait for the chance to just collapse in his arms. When he arrived he skipped every other step on his way up, and knocked loudly and impatiently until Loras had opened the door. Entering, he waited until Loras had closed the door before grabbing him and hugging him close.

 When Loras’ arms wrapped around him Renly could _finally_ breathe again. The constriction in his chest and the shake of his body had stopped, along with the self-doubt and paranoia—the voice in his head that told him he would lose it all because everyone knew, quieting before it was gone completely. All of it left as he breathed in the familiar scent of tobacco and aftershave, a hint of rose perfume in his hair. The feel of Loras’ arms—strong and reassuring—lulled him into a further sense of calm, and he let himself be overtaken with the peace Loras brought.

 “I love you,” he whispered, hands clutching the silk fabric on the back of Loras’ vest.

 “I love you, too,” Loras replied, and Renly almost broke at the sincerity behind his words.

 “I love you so much,” he repeated, kissing his neck. He said it again, and applied a kiss to his jaw, followed by a kiss to his nose. “Don’t ever think I don’t love you because I do. I love you do much it fucking hurts sometimes.”

 “I never think that,” Loras replied, reaching up to cup Renly’s jaw. “I know you love me, Renly—you don’t need to tell me that.”

 “I want to,” he said, moving in for a kiss, desperate for that intimacy. Opening up, Loras pressed himself closer as the kiss deepened, their tongues rubbing and their hands grabbed as they poured themselves into the embrace. Renly needed this—he needed Loras. He would always need Loras no matter what.

 He knew he should have no gotten attached, they both knew it. It was a gamble or a shot in the dark, desperate and foolish but worth it if your number came up. Loras made Renly feel like he could do anything, like he was worth more than just the younger Baratheon—the boy with the golden smile but not much else. The boy who hid behind his words and his style, pretending he was something more when they all thought he wasn’t.

 But Loras never thought that. Loras never judged him or made him try to be anything that he wasn’t. Loras breathed life into him, made him want to do better even when he fucked up all the time. Even when he got himself so deep into something there was no way out, Loras was there with him, standing in that hole as they comforted each other and told each other they weren’t alone.

 Because they weren’t.

 Moving to the bedroom, they took their time, discarding their clothes as they went, tied and vests and shirts being tossed down the hallway, pants coming off as they reached the bedroom before they were completely naked on the bed, bodies pressed together in a way that felt so _right_ that Renly wondered how anyone could say this was _wrong_. 

 “You drive me mad,” Loras panted under Renly’s touch, mouth caressing his neck, a bit of stubble tickling his lips. Sliding a hand down his thigh, Loras moaned softly as they lay side by side, his arms wrapped around Renly, stroking his back as he arched into his touch.

 Growling softly, Renly lifted his head to kiss him again and again, unable to pull himself away as Loras rolled them, Renly’s back hitting the mattress as Loras straddled him, his entire being surrounding Renly and making him forget about everything but _Loras_. His partner and his lover, his saviour and his demise. “You’re perfect.” A laugh, followed by a bite to his neck. “I mean it.”

 “I know,” Loras replied, voice low as he moved up to suck on his earlobe. Gasping, Renly’s body reacted to the touch, Loras’ mouth hot and wet against his skin as he sucked and nibbled. Grinding up, their groins touched, making them both falter, Loras’ hips jerking downwards of their own accord, seeking more contact.

 Reaching down, Renly grabbed Loras’ ass and squeezed, making Loras lift his head, mouth parted and eyes pressed shut as they rocked together. Neck exposed, Renly licked his Adam’s apple as it bobbed, the feel of his skin and body so hot and heavy on top of him leaving him breathless and desperate for more. “I love you.”

 “I love you, too,” Loras panted, sitting up, taking Renly with him. Sitting on his lap, Loras ran his hands through Renly’s hair as Renly stuffed his face in the crook of his lover’s neck, arms running parallel against his back while broad palms spread across shoulder blades. Rocking back and forth for a time, they moved together before they slowly stopped, Loras holding Renly while Renly held him, the two soaking each other in.

 “I miss this,” Loras mumbled, his thighs warm against Renly’s.

 “I miss you,” Renly replied, kissing his collarbone. “I miss us. I feel like I’m losing my mind, Loras. I feel like every time we’re not together—not like this—that I’ll fall apart… that I _am_ falling apart.” Sure finger’s ran through his hair, slow and steady as Renly hugged him close, Loras’ body a lifeline. “Sometimes it gets too much; the lies and the stories I’ve made keep piling up and I can’t keep track of it. And I have so much riding on these stories—these stupid stories that I kept making up. I have a child on the way, Loras… a _child_.”

 “I know,” Loras whispered.

 “Sometimes I think I can’t keep it together. That my made-up world where I delude myself into thinking everything is perfect and alright won’t save me in the end—it won’t save us. That everyone will find out and I’ll lose my child and I’ll lose you and everyone else and it terrifies me.”

 “I know.”

 “And all I want is for us to be happy and together—like this.”

 “Me, too.”

 “But sometimes I think we won’t get to have this—that I made a mistake and everything I’ve done was stupid and brash. That God will strike me down for the presumptions I’ve made about the people and the lives I’ve fucked with. The only things I’ve done in my life that I’ve been proud of—actually proud of—is loving you and fathering a child.”

 Nothing was said for a time, their bodies intertwined as Renly hid in the arms of the man he loved so much it _hurt_. He was safe in his arms. Safe and complete. He could ramble out his fears and tell him all of his secrets, and Loras would still love him and adore him. Still kiss and hold him even after everything he’d done. Most of the safety he perceived himself to have was only every really achieved when he was like this. When he was sheltered and loved.

 Finally lifting his head, he stared up at Loras, hazel eyes so full of understanding and adoration, a small, reassuring smile on his lips as he caressed his cheek. “I love you even if you believe you’re falling apart. I love you even when you doubt yourself. I love you because I can’t help it—everything you do and say… I’ll always be here, Renly. I’ve been through enough with you that nothing can drag me away.”

 “You promise me?” Renly asked, sounding incredibly childish but not caring.

 “Promise,” Loras replied, and they kissed.

 They took their time after that, hands caressing with ease and care, mouths locking and tongues exploring before finger’s moved down to stretch and widen. Pushing in, Renly let out a soft moan as Loras’ legs wrapped around his waist and his body dragged him in further. Tight, hot heat encircled him, and Renly got lost in Loras.

 Rocking, Loras gasped and moved with him, their kisses turning into the simple brush of lips as their breathing increased and bodies became more frantic. Moving in and out, Loras tightened and relaxed, their bodies so in tune with one another that they could not make a false step, pleasure sliding along their limbs with every moan and grasp and bite.

 Renly could feel himself close, the squeak of the bed increasing as they moved faster, Loras’ hand pressed in between their bodies as he jerked himself, knuckles brushing against his stomach with every stroke. Angling his hips, he hit Loras’ spot again and again, and their eyes locked near the end, a silent ‘I love you’ breaking through the haze of lust and desire as they released together.

 When they were both done and left to collect themselves, Renly stayed in Loras’ embrace for as long as possible, Loras’ seed sticky on their stomachs, sweat-slick thighs wrapped around his hips as he listened to his partners slow and steady heartbeat.

 “They say you shouldn’t get too attached,” Renly mumbled against his chest, eyes watching the two of them in the mirror in Loras’ bedroom. They looked so perfect together—Loras relaxed on the bed, one leg off to the side while the other hooked around his own leg. His black hair was a wild mess on his head, a few stands resting on the pale, smooth skin on Loras’ chest, while Loras’ own honey brown locks waved across his forehead and stuck. Arms wrapped around Loras’ frame, Renly hugged him close as they lay together, and Renly could see a small smile tug at Loras’ lips through the reflection.

 “Whoever said that has never felt a love like this.”


	13. I'm not Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings in the below piece of fiction belongs to George RR Martin, and I am in no way profiting off of this
> 
> Warning: Violence/Death
> 
> Authors Note: You're all going to hate me. Also, epilogue! There is an epilogue! So stay tuned.

 “—possible kidnapping outside the library on 5th street and 42nd avenue. I repeat, a possible kidnapping outside the library on 5th street and—“

  _Fuck_.

 “That sounds like us,” Loras said as Renly sped up, the siren going off as they served through traffic. Two weeks had passed with no break on the case—no noise or action taken by the perpetrator who seemed to come and go with his abuse as he pleased. Like a cold, bitter wind that left everyone shaking and empty.

 But suddenly, a fuzzy message over the radio system of a police cruiser while Renly and Loras were on their way to interview a man who might have been involved in a suspicious death over the weekend—completely unrelated but quickly pushed aside as the kidnapping plea broke out across the waves.

 “This is car 102-K responding to the kidnapping, I repeat this is 102-K responding. Go ahead with the further,” Loras recited into the walkie with ease, despite the excitement in his body and the fire in his eyes.

 “Witnesses reported a white female suspect between the ages of fifteen to twenty screaming, before a white male suspect, between the ages of thirty to forty pulled her down the dark alleyway. Happened around eight o’clock but it took the women who witnessed it approximately one minutes before they reached a phone. Witnesses reported he had no car near by—repeat the suspect had no car and had to go by foot,” the female dispatch said.

 “This might be it,” Loras said, hand going to caress his gun as Renly took a sharp turn and sped down a wide street. Turning another corner, they saw the library up ahead and Renly gunned it, adrenaline fueling the two of them.

 Swerving into the alleyway, Renly stopped the car and turned on the bright highway lights on before they both jumped out, alleyway light by the bright headlights. “I’ll go straight down and you curl around and look for any buildings he could have run through—keep your eyes peeled,” Renly called as Loras took off already, reading Renly’s mind almost.

 Pulling his gun out, the cold metal brought comfort to him as he hurried down the alleyway, mentally cursing the twist and turns of the older New York alleyway systems. Grabbing his flashlight, he shined it ahead of himself, ears open, desperately listening for any suspicious sounds above the usual New York traffic.

 A pin sound hit his ears first, and he turned around to look at a garbage can off in the distance. Another ‘ping’ followed and a few more before Renly realized it was starting to rain. _Great—just fucking great_. Picking up speed, he hurried down the alleyway before making a turn, gun raised before he came to a dead end—a chain link fence with the a large red and white sign saying ‘No Trespassing’ greeting him. The rain was getting heavier, hitting every surface and making the gravel of the alleyway wet and slippery, mud caking his shoes as he approached the gate. Peering past the linking, he noticed it was an older theater building in there, brick walls propping up old set pieces. Discarded props littered the yard, shadowy and villainous in the dark.

 But that was not what caught Renly’s attention. It was the break in the fence that did. It wasn’t new, the rip in the metal obviously having been done years ago by someone wanting in to pilfer the goods, but it had recently been pulled back, drag marks in the dirt visible.

 Sliding in between the links, Renly made his way carefully down the gravel path, walking through the old set pieces—mechanical horses and baby carriages, an old clown and theater chairs all withering away in the elements. The rain was soaking through him at this point, chilling him but never enough to make his hands wavered as he clutched his gun, flashlight pointed dead ahead along with the barrel of his gun.

 Pausing, he heard something different then the honk of horns from cars and the patter of rain on puddles. Staying still, he listened for the sound again, blinking back the rain in his eyes, water dripping off of his nose. He cursed himself for leaving his hat in his car.

 A whimper. There it was again—distinct now that he had heard it. Moving slowly through the yard, he kept his eyes and ears open, footsteps steady and as quiet as he could make them. Nearing an old canvas backdrop, Renly could hear some scuffling followed by a smack and the drop of a body. Keeping himself steady, he drew close and closer, gun raised as he neared the corner. Another small fight was heard, before a woman’s cry echoed off of the buildings around. That was when he turned the corner.

 “Police, put your hands up,” he yelled, but instead of responding the suspect grabbed the woman and jammed a gun against her head.

 “Any close and I’ll fucking shoot!” the man screamed while the young girl slipped on the stone, his arm keeping her up as he shoved the barrel hard against her temple. She let out a muffled cry, eyes squeezed shut as she shook in her arms.

 “I’m not going to shoot,” Renly said, watching the man the entire time. He kept his gun trained on him, however. Eyes wide and skin pale, the man looked to be in his early thirties. Dark hair plastered to his head, and days of stubble clung to his face. Horn rimmed glasses, speckled with raindrops, hid pale blue eyes that were clouded with insanity and desperation. “Why don’t you put the gun down and we can talk about this.”

 A bark of laughter, followed by a sob. “You think I’ll fall for that? Do you really think you’ll just talk to me after all I’ve done”

 “I don’t know,” Renly began, calm and steady. “What did you do that was so bad?”

 “I killed whores,” he cried out, pressing the gun harder and hard against her temple, making the girl cry out again. “I took them and I beat them and raped them because they’re all fucking whores who deserve to fucking feel pain. Pain for my fucking pleasure!”

 “Okay, just keep calm… what’s your name?” Keep them talking and keep the stress levels down. Just keep talking.

 “I’m not telling you that.”

 “What’s your name, then?” Renly asked, directing his attention to the girl. She did not say anything, and the crazed man faltered slightly.

“She’s a whore, why do you care?”

 “Alright, alright, I don’t,” he said, unable to gauge what the man was thinking as he wavered between pressing the gun against her head and debating pointing it at Renly himself. “Listen, you need to let her go… You can’t keep hurting these women.”

 “And why not?”

 “Because you know it’s not right,” Renly said, arms aching and feet soaked through. “You can help her and help yourself if you let her go right now, I promise I won’t—“

 “NO!” The scream carried through the alleyways, echoing all around them. The man continued to press the gun at her, eyes wide and frightened. He was fidgeting around, body tight and nervous. Renly suspected he was significantly unstable. “Put your gun down. I want you to drop your gun a-and kick it away or I’ll shoot her!”

 Renly could hear the cocking off the gun better than he could see it. He loathed to give the gun up—of course he fucking did—but he had to. She’d die before he had the chance to take a shot, and with the way he was shielding his body with hers he stood a good chance of hitting her instead. Dropping the gun, Renly put his hands up and kicked it over a bit. He’d keep talking. “Alright, I’ve dropped the gun; now how about you tell me your name in an exchange for the favour.” Hopefully his shout beforehand would alert Loras to where he was.

 “F-Fine… It’s Ramsay.”

 “Alright, Ramsay, I’m Renly.”

 “Good for you,” he jeered, jerking the girl a little, making her squeal in fright. “Now leave—just fucking leave otherwise she’ll die.”

 “And if I leave you’re going to kill her anyways. You know I can’t do that,” he reasoned, and that made Ramsay laugh, insane and harsh. It clung to Renly like some heavy sickness, vile and pure _evil_.

 “Everyone is going to die eventually,” he spat out. “Some just die more beautifully than others.”

  _Sick fuck_. “You know you don’t want to hurt her,” he said, trying to reason with a man who was too far gone. “You don’t want to—“

 “Of course I want to hurt her! I want her to scream—I want her to wither and beg for mercy as I cut her and abuse her. It’s all I wanted! I want her to feel the pain and I want to take her life. I can’t stop wanting it—I crave it all the time. The sound of their screams, the blood on my hands! It hounds me day and night.”

 Renly could hear footsteps through the gravel as the demon ranted and raved and snarled, his very existence a curse upon the land as he proved the depravity of the human soul. There was no hope for him.

 Out of the corner of his eye he could see Loras standing behind the canvas, hidden. Eyes narrowed and gun in his hands, he was staring intently at Renly, waiting for a signal.

 Looking back at Ramsay, Renly tried to find a bit of humanity in his eyes, but found none. “Were you the one killing a few years ago?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. Ramsay seemed unstable no matter what they spoke of, but he was more unwilling to do anything too drastic as long as Renly took charge and guided the conversation.

 “Y-yeah, that was me,” he said, snuffling a little in the cold rain. “I tried to stop after that—tried to control it. But it kept eating away at me until I gave in. It’s easier this way; I feel better when it’s done.”

 “And why libraries?”

 “They’re young… pure… delicate and unblemished,” he said, almost cooing the words in the ear of the teenaged girl.

 “You mean students?”

 “Yeah, students. They flock to the libraries and you can snatch them up there. Pull them away and get ‘em into a car.”

 “No car this time?”

 Ramsay shrugged. “I had one parked a little ways away. The whores who caught me prevented me from going my original direction with their screaming, so I came here.”

 “And this is where I found you.”

 “You wouldn’t have found me if this whore kept her mouth _shut_ ,” he hissed out, and the girl let out a strangled cry as he arm was squeezed down on. 

“You need to let her go, Ramsay,” Renly began again, hoping he could convince him. “You can control those urges again—we can help you with that. But you need to let her go.”

 “No, I won’t. You need to leave or I’ll fucking shoot you instead,” he said, and his gun was suddenly pointed at him. Trying not to jerk at the sight, he stood his ground, the barrel of the gun pointed at him. He could see Loras seize slightly, muscles ready for action and eyes going wide. Still Renly did not send the signal.

 “So you want to kill a cop while you’re at it? I can assure you that will definitely get you some jail time,” he drawled out, acting casual. It wasn’t working.

 “I don’t give a shit if I kill you fucking scum—you’re going to lock me up and throw the key away anyways. What does it matter if I fucking kill you while I’m at it? I’ll mutilate her corpse on top of yours.”

 Swallowing down the fear, Renly shuddered as Ramsay got a glint in his eye. “You sure you want that?”

 “Oh I want that. Nothing would please me more than causing that much pain if it means I can sleep tonight without my blood boiling and my body aching for the kill. Nothing would please me more.”

 It all happened so far Renly had little time to react. The scuffle of feet to his right against the gravel, the cocking of the gun followed by the press of the trigger all registered in his mind, followed by the loudest bang he had ever heard in his life.

 Time seemed to stop, a moment in which nothing was happening. No cars honked, no lips parted to speak, no one died and no one lived and everything just hung in the balance.

 And in those moments, Renly stared into brilliant hazel eyes.

 Catching Loras awkwardly in his arms as he fell, Renly went down with him, body limp and heavy. Laughter carried through the sound of blood rushing through his head, and Renly fumbled as he turned Loras in his arms, his partner’s body shaking as he cradled him close. A second shot silenced the laughter, but Renly couldn’t look up as a young girls sobbing broke out across the way.

 All he could do was stare at Loras’ beautiful, terrified face, lips parted as he breathed in and out, eyes staring up at him. Looking down, he could see in the dark blood pooling out of a chest wound, and he reached up to press his hand against it, desperate for it to stop.

 “You’re so stupid, Loras—you’re so stupid,” Renly sobbed, the warm liquid leaking through his fingers, coating him as it mixed with the rainwater. It wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard he pressed down. It kept coming out, and with every beat of his pure, innocent heart the life that flowed through him escaped with impossible speed.

 “Renly…” Loras’ choked, pained voice breaking through his frantic breathing, Loras’ own breathing hard and laboured as his system went into shock and blood pooled in his lungs.

 “D-Don’t say anything,” Renly gasped out, desperate for the blood to stop as Loras lay in his arms. “Just hold on—I’ll get you help.”

_Ohgodohgodohgod—_

 “R-Renly…” Loras repeated, his hand going to clutch Renly’s own over top the wound, tight and strong but losing that strength with every beat of his heart.

 “W-What?” Renly whispered, turning his hand around to hold Loras’, “What?” he repeated, chocking on the words as his throat closed in on him. The light in Loras’ eyes was fading, and he frantically tried to keep them alive, even as blood began to slip between his lips. He knew it was close—he could see it but he didn’t want to believe it. “Oh please, God…”

 “I’m not sorry,” Loras whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips as blood slipped down the crease and stained his cheek.

 “You’re not sorry about what?”

 There was no reply. Shaking him, Renly looked down at their joined hands, Loras’ fingers slipping from his grasp. His gaze returned to his lover’s face to lock with dull hazel eyes.

 The light was gone.

 “L-Loras… Loras don’t go—you can’t go, Loras,” Renly pleaded, shaking Loras hard and harder, desperate for those eyes to look at him with the love they always held. “Loras come back—you can’t do this to me. You fucking promised me, Loras. You promised me you wouldn’t leave me.” He was shaking, tears and rain blinding him as he curled in around his lover’s body. “You fucking promised,” he sobbed out.

The scream of sirens, the whimper of a woman and the sobs of his partner accompanied Loras Tyrell to his grave. But all the dying man saw was the gaze of his lover. And that was enough for him.

\---

**Authors Note: There is an epilogue after this you're going to want to read!**


	14. Don't Get Attached

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the below piece of fiction-- George RR Martin does
> 
> Warning: None
> 
> Author's Note: The last chapter! Thank you so much reading and thank you so much for the support! I hope you enjoyed :)

**Epilogue**

 Walking down the street, the sound of a Jimi Hendrix’s guitar riff wailed from someone’s garage, the door open while men and women gathered around red Camaro. Laughter broke through the music occasionally, followed by the squeal of a girl as her boyfriend picked her up and carried her around over his shoulder, her long hair dangling down as he swung her back and forth.

 Tapping a bouquet of roses against his leg, Renly watched the group as he walked by, shaking his head slightly, a smile on his lips despite it all. Going up the crack-free sidewalk to a quant blue house, Renly admired the roses that climbed up the garden tresses and blossomed—red and yellows, pinks and whites—painting the house with even more colour.

 He hadn’t been here since she started the garden. It was looking better than before, that was for certain.

 Ringing the doorbell, he stuffed one hand in his pocket, the other holding on to the roses as he waited. The sound of heeled footsteps carried through, before the door was opened and a familiar face greeted him. Hair cut and styled in a short bob, a pink lipstick on full, smiling lips, and mascara surrounding hazel eyes that radiated warmth.

 “Renly!” A surprised gasped, followed by small arms pulling him in for a strong hug.

 “Hello, Margaery.” Pulling away slightly, he kissed her cheek before presenting her with the roses. “I brought you some roses to go with your other roses,” he explained, making her laugh as she accepted them.

 “Thank you,” she said, smelling them as she ushered Renly into the house. Stepping in, he admired the front room as she closed the door. Warm and inviting, she had spruced the place up. After the divorce she had decided to move out of New York and closer to her old home out in the suburbs. But she wanted a house that she bought with most of her own money, refusing the assistance of her parents. Her own money she earned working as a lawyer, combined with some of the settlement money she got from the divorce, she purchased a small bungalow outside the city where their son could grow up with a real backyard and some fresh air.

 She was proud of the place, even if it did need work. But in the last seven years she had spruced it up, indeed. He had seen it mid process, but this was something else. Cream walls complimented modern, green furniture and gold decorations, plants in every corner of the house, bringing life into the relatively sparse area. There was a good energy in the place, as if it welcomed anyone who came inside.

 Despite being in his ex-wife’s house, Renly did feel welcomed.

 “Well, go and sit down and I’ll get you something to drink—is lemonade fine?” she asked, going into the kitchen as Renly sauntered into the living room.

 “Lemonade is fine,” he called over his shoulder as he neared the fireplace, rubbing a bearded cheek absentmindedly. On the mantel there were photographs—some black and white, other’s in colour. A few stood out, and Renly immediately reached out to grasp a class photo. Bright hazel eyes and a large grin beamed up at him from the photo, and Renly couldn’t help but chuckle as he noticed long black hair with lazy curls hung around the boy’s face. Renly had heard about the haircut wars over the phone numerous times.

 “What are you laughing at?” Margaery asked, coming into the living room, a tray with lemonade and biscuits in her grasp. Placing it on the table, she went to look over Renly’s shoulder. “Oh, yes—his school photo. He looks completely wild,” she said, pouting a little.

 “I think he looks like me when I was a kid,” he replied, putting it back on the mantel. His gaze went over to a larger photograph, one of the entire Tyrell family, sans one. And beside that was a photo he remembered well. It was their wedding day, Margaery smiling brightly as her husband stood on her right side, and her older brother on her left.

 Renly did not stare at it for too long, his throat constricting as he turned around. “So where is he?”

 “Oh, I don’t know,” Margaery said, noticing the photograph he had been staring at. Leaving the topic alone, she followed him to the couch. “I think he’s in his room listening to his music and reading comic books—boy things. You’re free to go and rouse the beast if you’d like.”

 “Do you mind?” he asked, anxious to see his son. He hadn’t seen him in a year…

“No, I don’t mind! Go, chat with him for a little bit.” Thanking her, he kissed her cheek before leaving the living room. Walking down the hallway, more family photos all across the cream walls, he neared the door he remembered being his son’s room, smudges around the door handle from dirty finger prints solidifying his memory.

 Rapping his knuckles against the door, he waited. Nothing. Knocking again, he opened the door shortly after, peeking his head in. Lying on a small bed, feet kicked up and hands grasping a comic book, Sebastian sat with large headphones on, eyes flicking up just in time to see Renly’s head come around the frame.

 “Dad!”

 Tossing the headphones off and rushing over, Sebastian forgot for a moment that he was thirteen and far too cool for any of this sort of display, and rushed into his father’s arms.

 “Hey, Kid!” Renly said, arms wrapping around his son before he picked him up and squeezed.

 Sebastian Loras Baratheon was born on June 29th, 1959 at 5:06 PM. Less than a day after Loras’ death. As one life left, another came into the world. Margaery had been sent into labour after the news, and the screams of agony mixed in with the tears of grief as she ushered her son into the world, Renly beside her as he tried to keep it together. For both their sakes.

 When Sebastian came out, all pink and angry and crying, the grief stopped for a moment—the overwhelming pain and loss was gone in both their hearts as they gazed at their son. He brought them just a moment of respite in such a horrific time.

 Renly would always thank his son for that.

 “When did you get here?” Sebastian asked as they pulled away, Renly ruffling his shoulder length hair. Ah, the 70’s. Renly would never understand why long hair was in fashion…

 “About ten minutes ago, but I’ve been in New York since this morning,” he said, walking over to sit on a large, moth eaten chair that had been taken from the garage and stuffed in the corner of his room near the bookshelf. Renly noticed that half the books on the shelves were comics. Sitting on the bed across from him, Sebastian kicked his feet, a huge grin on his face. “So how are things, Kid?”

 Shrugging, he tried to act nonchalant, as if he suddenly remembered he was _thirteen_ and not twelve. A big difference, apparently. That whole ‘teen’ thing really changed a kid. Renly tried not to laugh at his own internal monologue. “Things are alright, I guess. I’ve been playing baseball.”

 “That’s great! In school or on a team outside?”

 “Just in school, but I really like it.”

 “And school?”

 “It’s okay.” Another shrug. “I’m doing well in English but I’m not very good at Math. My teacher keeps trying to help me but I try to explain to her that maybe it’s just not for me, you know? But she tells me to stop trying to argue my way out of it and just do the work. Occasionally she’ll blame mom for teaching me how to debate before I could walk.”

 That made Renly let out a bark of laughter, and Sebastian began to giggle. “I can assure you, you learned to walk before you debated,” he said, glad his son was doing well in English but a little worried about Math. He’d talk to Margaery about that later… “No troubles, though? How is your social life?”

 That made Sebastian pause, guilty eyes looking down at his shoes. Biting his bottom lip, he shrugged. Waiting, Renly sat back in the chair and raised a high, expectant brow. Fidgeting under his gaze, Sebastian finally sighed and looked up. “Promise you won’t get mad when I tell you?”

 “Depends on what it is.”

 “I was defending you,” he proclaimed, hand held up in a defensive manner. “So you can’t get mad if I may or may not have gotten in a fight.”

 “A fight?!” Sitting up straight, Renly reached forward and cupped Sebastian’s face, looking for any signs of bruising or a cut—anything that would tell him what had happened. Shoving his hand away, Sebastian made a frustrated, little whiney sound.

 “It was a week ago and the kid only kicked me in the stomach!” he defended himself with, which sounded weak even in his ears.

 “Why did you get into a fight?” he asked, hating the sound of it. His son did not brawl like some animal—that was for thugs and low-lives. He was a Baratheon and a Tyrell; they used their words, not their fists.

 “I… Well one of the kids was talking to a girl, Sandy, about how she only had a mom and their dad left. And they were teasing her because her dad was a drunk and got kicked out of the house and she started to cry, you see, and I can’t stand it when girls cry. So I jumped in and I told them to back off, but then they started to yell at me and called my Dad—I mean you—well, they called you stuff like fag and queer and gay. And I got so angry and I told them that so what if you are gay, you still love mom and you aren’t a drunk and you’re a detective in Los Angeles. But they started chanting the word ‘Faggot Stock’… so I kicked one in the nuts and punched the other one. And I got pushed to the ground and defended myself... by curling up until the teachers came.”

 Sighing, Renly listened to the story, a hand rubbing over his face at the end. He had been worried about that. Once the real reason for his divorce with Margaery broke out, everyone would know and it wasn’t just his honour on the line anymore. Margaery could take the talk, as could he, but Sebastian? He shouldn’t have to deal with it; he was just a kid. “What did your mom say about this?”

 “… Told me fighting was for thugs and that even if I was angry I shouldn’t have done it. She grounded me for a week—that’s why I’m in here rather than outside with my friends.”

 Nodding, Renly pursed his lips and thought about what he could say to make this better. There wasn’t a handbook made for this sort of thing. _What to do When Your Son or Daughter Defends Your Homosexual Persuasion to School-Yard Children_. He should write one.  “You know she’s right,” he began, watching as Sebastian rolled his eyes and groaned. “No, don’t give me that—you do know she’s right. Listen, the temptation to react like that is really hard to ignore sometimes, especially when someone is saying something you disagree with, but you have to hold yourself back. If you keep getting into fights about this sort of stuff you’re going to be black and blue before Christmas. And then what? Then you’ll start fighting to get better, and then you’ll start looking for fights, and I will not have my son fighting his way through his life—you’re better than that. You’re also smarter than that.”

 “Yeah, I guess,” he said, before smiling slightly. “But I did defend your honour! Like those knights in some books I’ve been reading! Did you know that in the courts ladies would give knights’ favours and they’d joust and fight for those ladies’ honour? How cool is that?”

 Laughing, Renly nodded and sat back in his chair. “What else did knights do?”

 “So much cool stuff,” he began, sitting up near the edge of his bed as he started to talk about squires and lord systems, hands flying about before he started to pretend to sword fight. There may have been a dragon thrown in for effect. Renly simply sat back, adding questions in of his own and perhaps a few things to thicken the plot.

 They spent the rest of the afternoon making up this tale, Margaery ushering them into the living room for the forgotten lemonade. Sitting on the couch together, Margaery beside Renly, they watched their son explain something else he’d read in a book—or a comic book, it was hard to tell—eyes bright and hands waving around as he regaled them with stories.

 Both Renly and Margaery had a hard time stopping themselves from looking like the proud parents that they were.

XX

The jingle of an advertisement played through the car, mixing with the sound of passing cars and the tap of Margaery’s hand against the steering wheel. Looking at her out of the corner of his eye, he admired her large, cats-eye white sunglasses that gave her a chic and styled look—one she always wore so well. Margaery was looking great, Renly thought, but of course she always had. It was as if the last thirteen years had not even happened, her figure still slim and fit, her hair still vibrant and glossy, and the only lines on her face were around her eyes from smiles and laughter.

 Sometimes, when she’d look at him a certain way, he felt like it was 1958 again and they were newlyweds, ready to tackle a world that neither fully understood, despite their own misguided judgements about who they were as people. Youth made people believe as if they knew it all…

“You’re looking really good, Marg,” Renly said, and she turned her head slightly to flash him a brilliant smile.

 Turning a corner, they came to a red light and stopped, giving her a chance to turn fully and flip her sunglasses down her nose. “I’m already driving you to the precinct—what more could you possibly want that you’d need to flatter me so?”

 Laughing, he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So what, I can’t give you a compliment without you thinking I’m going to ask for something? Jeez, Margaery—have a _little_ faith in me.”

 Shrugging, she winked before pushing her glasses back up as the lights turned green. “You look good, too,” she replied as they drove down the busy downtown street. The cars were bigger, the clothes brighter, the street signs flashier. Renly barely recognized New York’s downtown center every time he came back to visit. “I like your beard, especially. How come you never had one while we were married?”

 Rubbing his beard as soon as she mentioned it, he let the course hair run along the palm of his hand. Dark black with the beginnings of a bit of grey, Renly began to grow one when he moved out to Los Angeles, finding it suited him and gave him an air of sophistication that his previously clean shaven jaw had not. Of course, there were reasons he had shaved before…

  _The smell of shaving cream was heavy under his nose, the texture of it smooth and cool against his neck as he applied it with a soft horsehair brush. Staring at himself in the mirror, he stretched his neck out and pressed the blade against the expanse of flesh, steady hands working upwards to swipe the foam and hair away. Repeating the process a few more times, he finished a small section before his eyes caught another form in the reflection of the mirror._

_“You’re awake.” Strong arms wrapped themselves around his waist, and a chin rested on his shoulder, hazel eyes closed as Loras smiled lazily at his reflection._

_“You were being loud,” he mumbled, voice groggy from sleep. “Opening the cupboard, taking a shower, tripping on the mat on the floor…”_

_Rolling his eyes, Renly dabbed a bit of shaving cream on Loras’ nose, making his eyes open and a glower appear on his face as he glared at Renly. “This is my apartment, I can be as loud as I want.”_

_Grumbling, Loras pulled away, but stayed close as he shoved his way between Renly and the sink. Resting his backside against the sink, he grabbed the razor from Renly’s hand before tracing a finger across his collarbone. “I like it when you shave,” he said, and raised a brow in a silent request, blade held high in his hand. Renly found the thought of Loras shaving him exciting for some reason. Perhaps it was the trust that came with having someone glide a blade across your skin and neck, so close to important arteries and tender skin. He agreed without really thinking it over, already knowing he trusted Loras not to hurt him._

_“Why is that?” he asked as the razor slid across his jawline with careful precision, Loras’ free hand rubbing circles behind his ear._

_“Your skin is smooth and easy to touch. I like kissing you when you’re not so scratchy.” Smiling, Loras kissed the space that had been shaved, obviously not caring if he picked up a little bit of the left over cream. Resting his hands on Loras’ hips, Renly closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment, his hand sure and steady, confidence in every stroke. It was a slow, easy moment between the two, hips almost touching with the occasional kiss here and there._

_When Loras was done they ended up spending the rest of the morning in bed, not a care in the world as they made love and exchanged kisses that tasted faintly like mint and spice, the rest of the world on hold as they embraced and enjoyed each other, lost in the touches and emotions. It was a good morning… a relaxing morning…_

“Renly.”

 Snapping his gaze from the window, he turned to look at Margaery, a fake smile already on his lips. “Yes?”

 “Where did you go?” Her voice was soft, and there was a hint in her tone that told him she already knew.

 “I was just remembering,” he said, shifting in his seat. He hated remembering. “I usually shaved because I didn’t want to look like my brothers… and I look good with or without a beard anyways,” he said, smirking a little. He could see her roll her eyes behind her sunglasses, but she was smiling, too.

 Slowing the car down, Margaery pulled into the parking lot of the NYPD, parking it in the visitors section. Turning the vehicle off, she pulled her sunglasses off and turned to look at him. “I’ll be back here when you’re done—I’m just going to hop over to the pharmacy and pick up some cosmetics that I need. Don’t feel like you need to speed your meeting up to adjourn with me here, though. Take as long as you like, I’m sure you two have so much to talk about.”

 Sending Margaery a deadpan stare, he pursed his lips before going to open the door as he took his seatbelt off. “Yes, yes I am sure Stannis and I will enjoy this reunion almost as much as he enjoys going to the dentist to fix his teeth after years of grinding them,” he drawled out. Getting out, he crouched down and blew her a kiss before slamming the door closed and heading to the visitor’s entrance.

 The building looked the same, despite the years that had passed. Still brick, still large, and oddly enough, still felt a little like home. He’d spent enough of his life there and it was of little wonder that no matter what had happened, no matter how much he felt like walking into his office and not seeing Loras destroyed a little part of him each time, Renly would always find a bit of peace walking through the doors and hearing the phones and chatter from the secretaries, the yells of the interrogation room and the gossip around the coffee pot.

 Moving through the people, he approached the front desk and received a visitors badge when he told them who he was seeing. Going up the familiar wooden steps, he walked down a few hallways before approaching an even more familiar door. In bold black letters across the glass on the door, the title Commissioner was written, followed by Stannis Baratheon.

 Knocking twice, he heard a grunt for a reply, and took that as a ‘come in’. Pushing the door open, he peeked his head in, and gave his brother a half-hearted smile as sunken blue eyes glanced up at him from his desk.

 “Renly.”

 “Stannis.” Nodding in acknowledgment, Renly walked in and shut the door before going to sit across from him. Stannis was looking older and older every time he saw him. Stress and continual tension, mixed in with a heavy amount of bitterness, did little to keep him handsome and virile. But that was not something Stannis cared about. He was completely bald now, his beard a mixture of white and black, with grey sprinkles in. Wrinkles lined his face, mostly from years of frowning, and his brow was continually furrowed, bushy black eyebrows pressed together, a deep-set line set in between.

 Despite that, Renly had heard Stannis was more accommodating and less ‘grouchy’ when he became Commissioner after years of fighting for the spot when he became Sergeant. Some would have gone as far as to say he was happy, but Renly wondered if the man had ever been happy in his life.

 “You look good,” he said, smiling a little as Stannis sat back in his chair, a frown still on his face.

 “You do as well. How is Sebastian?”

 “Good, good. He got into a fight a little while ago, but Margaery seemed to scare him enough that he won’t try that again. How is Shireen?”

 “She is… well. Most days she is, and that is all we can ask for. She’ll always be sickly,” he replied, and Renly wondered if that was sadness, pity, or annoyance that flickered behind his stoic gaze. “And Margaery—she is well, too?”

 Nodding, he tugged at his collar, finding Stannis’ intensity a little too much at the moment. Most days he could handle it, but being back here after so long was… hard. “She is good, too…”

 There was silence for some time, Stannis seemingly oblivious to the tension and awkwardness that had placed itself in the office. Staring at the cup that held a few pencils in it, Renly tried to find the right way of going about what he was going to say. This wasn’t something he could just rush into it—it wasn’t something he wanted to. He had to say it, but that did not mean it would be easy.

 “I never really thanked you,” he began, looking up at his brother, face still stern but eyes softening as the words ‘thank you’ made its way over to him. “Without you I wouldn’t have been able to start fresh and join the LAPD like I had wanted to. Once news broke out about my sexuality and the real reason for my divorce, I thought I was done for. But… but you kept silent on the issue, did not tell anyone in California about it, and used your influence to get me a spot there… Without you I’d have been done for. You… you gave me a bit of my life back, and I need to thank you for that. So thank you, Stannis.”

 The same brilliant blue stayed locked for some time, and Renly reveled a bit at the sight of Stannis showing an emotion past feigned indifference or anger. He was surprised, eyebrows slightly raised and mouth not as tight. Smiling, Renly reached across and shook his brother’s hand.

 “You’re welcome,” he said, voice still gruff but with a hint of tenderness. Or maybe Renly was just making it up. “You are my brother, Renly—I could not just let you lose more than you already had, especially something so trivial as to who you choose to sleep with. People need to occupy themselves with more pressing matters.”

 Laughing softly, Renly nodded and clasped his hands together. “You’re right about that.”

 The reunion did not last much longer after that, Renly having said his peace and Stannis only able to stand so much conversation before he grew irritable and disgruntled. Excusing himself, he promised to call more often, something both of them knew would never happen and both were secretly grateful for, and left his office with a weight off of his shoulders. It was hard to tell Stannis he was right or had done a good thing—it was hard to give credit to either of his brothers—but Renly had to do it this time. And to finally thank him after all of those years as good; cathartic, almost. Where most had turned away from Renly when they found out about his affair, Stannis had stood beside him, a silent support next to Margaery and a few others who did not judge and simply provided emotional support.

 “Is that who I think it is?”

 As soon as the door to Stannis’ office had been closed, Renly heard a familiar voice and turned around to see Sam walking out of Renly’s old office, folders in hand and a bright smile on his face. “Sam, it’s good to see you!”

 Shaking his hand, Renly relaxed after the tension in the room behind him, Sam always a warm and inviting presence in any situation. “How have you been? You’ve been well, right?” he asked, looking Renly over. “You look well.”

 “I am well, thank you,” he replied, chuckling. “And you?”

 “Oh I’m great! Really great; I’m still working homicide, but I really love it now. I think I’ve come into my own, you know? Jon became Sergeant after your brother got promoted, and I was given the chance to head the homicide department, so I took it!”

 “That’s great, Sam. I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Seems like not a lot has changed around here.”

 “Nah, it hasn’t really. Did you want to come into my office and we can chat a bit more privately?” Looking over his shoulder, Renly eyed the familiar doorway. Swallowing a thick wad of spit, he shook his head.

 “I don’t really want to go into that office,” he said, and realization blossomed across Sam’s face just as he said it.

 “Oh no, I’m sorry I completely forgot that we used to share that office with Tyrell—I mean Loras. I mean… I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t be.” Sending Sam a shaky smile, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to steel his nerves as his hands began to shake. Suddenly the office felt hot and oppressive, the walls closing in as he tried to stop himself from remembering. He could do this—he could go back to places that were part of his old life and be fine. The past did not control him, nor did grief or despair. He had worked hard to get over it, and he would not be undone by a simple office in a simple police precinct.

 “I know, but I am sorry. I just, I mean, Jon and I were out that night, too—we heard the call but were too far away. I keep thinking that if we had been there on time Loras wouldn’t have—“

 “I need to go,” Renly declared, shoving past Sam abruptly, breathing laboured. He didn’t want to hear it; strength and resolve be damned. There were some things he didn’t think about, and that _night_ was one of them. “I’ll call you later, Sam, and maybe we can go for a coffee,” he called over his shoulder as he rushed to the stairs and down them, leaving a stunned Sam standing in the middle of the fourth floor.

 Speeding through the precinct, he slammed the visitors badge down on the desk, signed the sign-out sheet with shaking hands before he was pushing the double doors open and stepping out into the sunlight. The smells of downtown New York flooded back into his system, the sounds blaring out the own beat of his heart as he hurried to Margaery’s car. Getting in, he obviously surprised her as she let out a squeak of alarm, almost dropping her day-planner on to the floor of the car.

  “Renly, are you alright? You’re pale,” she said, reaching out to brush his forehead. Batting her hand away, he leaned forward and stuffed his head between his legs, curling in on himself as he tried to even his breathing out. He was going to try and explain to her what was going on—tell her he needed to leave and just not be here, but it appeared as if she already knew. Starting the car, she pulled out of the parking lot, rolling her window down as she did so to let air into the car.

 Margaery always knew what was wrong with Renly and he loved her for it. Her understanding and her care were otherworldly sometimes. She was a goddess in Renly’s eyes— and she was his best friend now. All he wanted to do was tell her how much he loved and cherished her at that moment, to let her know that she and Sebastian meant the world to him _. Instead_ he stayed crouched over, staring at the carpet of the floor on the car as he tried to get the images of Loras’ prone form out of his head, his body crumbled and limp in the mud as the emergency medical team shuffled around him, looking for a pulse they would not find while strong arms held him back, keeping him away from his fallen partner. _Instead_ he squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to block out the memories of what it felt like to have his heart stuck in his throat, the warmth of drying blood all over his hands and the agonizing pain of having his soul numb and his mind collect long enough to realize with sudden clarity that Loras was _gone_. And _instead_ of telling Margaery how much he cared for her, he stayed crouched over and pressed his hands together, trying to block out the sounds of that night as the girl continued to cry, he continued to scream and the EMT’s loudly declared: _He’s dead—let’s bag him_.

Renly had no idea where they were going, but when they stopped and the sound of laughter and birds could be heard, he finally lifted his head. Blinking back the bright light from the sun, he peered out and noticed they were stopped near a park. Margaery was already getting out of the car, purse in hand as she headed to the meter a short distance away. Following her lead, he ran a hand over his face before getting out, trying to appear in control but emotionally falling apart.

 Not saying a word, Margaery took his hand and lead him into the park, hand warm and steady in his grasp. Linking their fingers together, he followed her deeper into the park, a pathway that was lined with trees a soothing shelter from the world outside. Stopping at a bench halfway along the path, they sat down together, hands still locked as they stared out across the way. Not saying anything, Margaery just sat silently and reassuring, waiting for Renly. Always waiting.

 Finally, he found his voice.

 “I don’t know how you do it,” he whispered, and saw Margaery turn her attention to him out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t know how you can stay in New York.”

 Sighing, Margaery slipped off her sunglasses and stuffed them in her purse, before grabbing Renly’s hand in bother her own, rubbing the top of his knuckles gently. “It’s hard sometimes, but we all need to move on.”

 “How?”

 “Well that’s the big question, isn’t it? How do you move on after you’ve lost someone?”

 “I’ve lost people before,” he said, staring off between the trunks of the trees, watching some children play a game of tag. “I lost my parents… I lost my brother… but they never affected me. They never really mattered. They were there and then gone… that was it. But Loras… Loras never left. And sometimes it hurts, you know? It’s like he’s here, but I can’t touch him or talk to him… can’t even see him.” Part of him felt bad for saying these things—he was talking about the man he had an affair with on Margaery. He was talking about her _brother_. She should not have been the one who he hurt the most, only to have her return it with unconditional love and understanding. He didn’t deserve this and he knew it, and yet he still took it.

 And yet here she was, rubbing his hand gently and listening carefully, her own face tight and pinched. “It was hard, I will not lie…” she mumbled, turning to watch the children as well. “I woke up most nights, replaying what you had told me about that night—making up these horrid, graphic images in my head that became more macabre the more I thought about it. You’d be sleeping on the couch, claiming you’d only wake me with your tossing and turning, but I’d sometimes go out and see you lying there, staring at the wall with this dead look in your eyes. It was those moments where I’d go and sit in Sebastian’s room and watch him sleep… so peaceful and innocent and oblivious to human grief,

“And is was in those moments, where I’d watch him and I’d think about you and Loras and everything that had happened, and I realized that it wasn’t his death that hurt us. It wasn’t the fact that he was gone that made us suffer. It was our own inability to move on from it that hurt the most. It was our grief and our staunch resistance to the idea that life carries on no matter how much we wish it to stop for a moment. I realized, one night before we spoke about divorce, that Loras’ death was a tragedy, but the way we were living our lives after his passing that was the real downfall. That was the real tragedy…  Loras would not have wanted us to live our lives like that. He was a man who adored the sun, and yet we continued to live in the darkness. So I moved on—for him, for myself and for Sebastian. I moved on, Renly. I did the only thing I could.”

 Renly listened carefully to Margaery’s voice, soaking in her words and coveting her wisdom. It was true—he had never moved on. Part of him hadn’t wanted to, believing that if he did he’d forget something about Loras. He’d forget his smile or his laugh, forget how it felt to be kissed and held by him. He’d forget how sometimes his eyes looked almost gold in the sunlight and how much he ached to kiss him in those moments. He was afraid that if he moved on, he would truly lose Loras.

 But what he was doing—replaying moments lost in time that only hurt him rather than aided him—it was unhealthy. He proved that with his attack in the precinct, unable to even discuss the night he lost himself without panicking. It was cowardly. Loras would have disapproved completely. He would have told Renly to… well, move on. Get past it. He’d worked through it long enough; he could not hide anymore.

 “I love you, you know that, right?” he finally replied, turning to look at Margaery. “You and Sebastian—you mean the world to me. I want you to know that.”

 “I do know that,” she replied, hand cupping his cheek, rubbing the skin gently. Sending him a sad, but strong smile, she moved and kissed him sweetly. “And you mean the world to us. There is not a thing we would not do for you.”

 Nodding, he closed his eyes and gently bumped their foreheads together, a familiar action. “I should visit him.”

 “You should.”

 “Will you come with me?”

 “If you want.”

 “… Tomorrow. Can we go tomorrow?”

 “Of course.”

 It was time to move on.

XX

 “Where is he?”

 “Just down this lane—in the middle. The white one.”

 Nodding, they walked down the grassy lane, passing stone after stone. Margaery’s hand was firmly in his own, Sebastian wandered a few paces behind, a bouquet of lilies in his hands that he was carrying for his mother. Staring at the white stone as they neared it, Renly squeezed down on Margaery’s hand, heart rate increasing as he tried to swallow down the anxiety and fear.

 “He’s been waiting too long, Renly,” she said as Renly slowed down even further. “Don’t make him wait another thirteen years…”

 Nodding, he steeled himself and took the last few steps until he could see the name carved clearly on the stone.

_Loras Tyrell  
 August 5 th 1933- June 28th 1959  
Beloved Brother and Cherished Son  
Gone But Not Forgotten_

 Staring at the innocent white marble, Renly stood still as Sebastian moved forward and placed the lilies down on the grave at the subtle ushering of Margaery. Not really paying attention to much at all, Renly just stared, trying to control his emotions.

 Margaery said a quick prayer, before letting go of Renly’s hand. “Come on, Sebastian, we should go visit my Grandma and Grandpa’s graves and pay our respects.”

 “Where are they?” Sebastian asked, looking over his shoulder at his father as Margaery lead them away.

 “The other side of the cemetery,” was her distant reply.

 Standing alone in front of his lover’s grave, Renly fiddled with a lone red rose, eyes staring at the engraving of his name. He did not say anything for some time, thoughts and emotions too complicated to grasp.

 “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he whispered finally, voice loud despite his hushed tone. Stepping forward, he placed the rose on top of the stone, smooth marble caressing his fingertips before he pulled away. “I was too… afraid, I guess. I’m sorry.”

 Sighing, he tugged at his shirt collar before sitting down in front of the grave. “I moved,” he began, “I waited until Sebastian was old enough and I left the NYPD and joined the LAPD… finally made it to Los Angeles after all those years. I just couldn’t stay in New York anymore…” Smiling slightly, he reached out to trace Loras’ name with his fingers, tears springing into his eyes.

 He let them come.

“Sebastian is a beautiful kid, isn’t he? Now that he’s old enough, Margaery’s been talking about letting him come and visit me in the summer. I think he’d really like Los Angeles. It’s always warm, the sun is always shining and there’s so much to see and do… I think you two would have gotten along real well… I wish you could have met him, Loras…”

 Silence. No reply, save for the song of a bird in a nearby tree.

 “I miss you.” Pressing his palm flat against the cool stone, he choked back a sob. “Margaery found out about us on her own. She… she realized my grief was not going away. A year after you died and I was still in shambles, and she asked me… asked me if I had been in love with you,” Wiping a tear away, he smiled sadly. “I told her no, no I hadn’t been in love with you… I told her I was still in love with you… told her I’d always be in love with you.”

 Shaking his head, his hand dropped from the marble, rising to roughly brush the tears away from his cheek. “Sometimes I go back to that night… with you in my arms. I keep seeing your eyes and hear your breathing, feeling the blood coating my hands… sometimes I go back there. But most of the time I dream about you when you were with me—completely with me. When we’d hold each other and tell each other how in love we were. I like to go back to those times, when we’d kiss and love and just… be together.”

 Again, silence… pure, simple silence.

 “I thought about what you said to me before you… before you left. Thought about what you could have meant and I finally figured it out. And I’m not sorry, either. I’d never be sorry for what we did—what we accomplished together. I’m not sorry that we found love, even if the world hated us for it. I just wish I could have realized this when you were still with me… maybe then we could have kissed under the sun like you always wanted.”

 Looking down at the lilies, he brushed away the last few tears. Kissing his palm, he pressed it against the marble one last time. “I love you, Loras.”

 They say don’t get too attached. That your partner could leave you as soon as they had come. They say don’t build that bond—don’t let yourself get caught up in another person because no matter what, you’ll never be together for forever.

 Walking up to his family, Renly hugged his son and kissed Margaery on the cheek, before they walked out together, hand in hand.

 They say don’t get attached…

 Renly was glad he didn’t listen.


End file.
